


I Put a Spell On You

by owlettica



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: A complex Zsaszlepot bouquet with lingering notes of Nygmobblepot and a hint of Gobblepot, Anal Fingering, Angst, Apologies, Blood and Gore, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Complicated Relationships, Confessions, Crime Scenes, Dirty Thoughts, Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Exhibitionism, Explicit Language, Fantasy, Future Fic, Groping, Hand Jobs, Homicide, Implied/Referenced Torture, Intimidation, Jealousy, Less Mr. Right and More Mr. Right Now, M/M, Masturbation, Melancholy, Memories, Nostalgia, Not Beta Read, Past Relationship(s), Past and Present, Possessive Behavior, Regret, Reunions, Reverie, Rivalry, Rough Sex, Serial Killers, Smut, TADA!, Threesome - M/M/M, Unresolved Feelings, Voyeurism, Workplace Relationship, body parts, gotham smut, living in the past, tokens of affection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2019-11-12 04:40:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 49,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18003986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlettica/pseuds/owlettica
Summary: A decade after Year Zero, Oswald Cobblepot looks back on his life and his relationships with the most influential men in it.______This fic is chock full of spoilers (up to and including season five)—with dialogue lifted right from it. Don’t say you weren’t warned.I’m just a sick fan (with no association to Gotham or FOX) writing what I’d love to see on the show. Please don’t sue me. I haven’t any money.





	1. Fat Daddy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Filthycasual](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Filthycasual/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oswald prepares for his upcoming celebration at the Iceberg Lounge and reminisces about the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story has multiple POVs and will flip back and forth between past and present. I’ll denote the past (including memories and thoughts) with _italics._ It also has of dialogue lifted right from all the eps through 5x11. The “present” section takes place through the span of a week. The _”past stuff” _spans post s3/pre s4 through s5.__
> 
>  
> 
> _Full disclosure for you Nygmobblepotters: Nygmobblepot is definitely a relationship in this story, it isn’t be the primary driver of this fic. For anyone who knows me, it’s largely Zsaszlepot._  
> 

—>a<—

Alvarez exits the elevator. His stomach loudly protests his second quad shot espresso after inhaling three chorizo, egg and potato breakfast tacos. He grimaces from the heartburn.

_What the hell was I thinking?_

He grabs the chewable antacids he just picked up at the bodega down the street. Well-practiced hands open the package and eject two tablets without requiring so much as a glance.

Carlos passes the unies and walks up to the apartment with the crime scene tape. On his way in, he pops the antacids into his mouth and catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He rolls his eyes at the grey in his temples and developing jowls growing more evident. He fingers his chin.

_Maybe I should grow a beard. Holy shit. If I don’t watch it, I’m gonna turn into Bullock. I gotta hit the gym._

He strides up to the M.E., eyeballing the brunette with a slit throat, dressed up in a power suit with some fancy pumps.

“Whatcha got for me?”

“Maura Lapinksi. Thirty. Single. Cause of death? That slit throat. No defensive injuries. Killer was left-handed. Guy knew what he was doin’. She bled out in no time. Oh. And those stab wounds? Postmortem.”

The detective takes a long look at the woman, sitting pretty as a picture in her living room chair—save the fact her throat’s been sliced from ear to ear. She ~~is~~ _was_ lovely. _Truly_. Pale skin, long black hair with soft curls, light brown eyes and a pouty mouth painted the color of a pomegranate.

The M.E.’s voice pulls him from his thoughts.

”So you workin’ the big Iceberg Lounge celebra—.”

Alvarez squints incredulously and tilts his head.

“Only if Penguin and his pals leave me a DB. _Homicide_ , remember? No body? No work.”

“Well, it’s just that everybody’s talking about—.”

Alvarez shakes his head and holds up a hand.

“I’m only concerned with the _facts of this case._ We have an estimated time of death?”

The medical examiner shrugs.

“Preliminary findings? Based on the state of the body and skin discoloration? Say… nine to twelve hours?”

Carlos glances around the woman’s modest, “lived in” apartment before taking another look at her suit and shoes—both high end: Carolina Herrera and Louboutins. Her makeup is fairly understated save her eyeliner, mascara and lipstick. His eyes scrunch at her hair (parted in the middle) and can tell by her roots growing out she’s not brunette, but a redhead.

 **_Fuck._ ** _Not another one. I gotta call Harp—_ ** _Cap_** _._

As he investigates the crime scene, two unies gab about the _only_ thing Gotham seems to be talking about these days: The Iceberg Lounge’s celebrating ten years post Zero. Even the victim was reading up on it.

Despite the apartment’s general clutter and scattershot magazines haphazardly opened here and there, the coffee table is conspicuously free of it. The only thing on its surface is the society column of the Gotham Gazette, centered and squared. It’s been neatly opened and methodically refolded to the photo of Nygma and Cobblepot sampling food and talking to caterers under the headline “Will They or Won’t They?”

The unies are still yammering on.

“Maybe they’ll finally make an engagement announcement at Penguin’s bash this Saturday. I’m tellin’ you. They should just fuckin’ tie the knot already.”

“The Gazette’s been covering those assholes for _years_ and that has _yet_ to happen. Honestly, what the hell would you even buy a couple like that for a wedding gift? Where would they even register? At the ‘New’ Merc?”

The unies cackle and shake their heads.

“Hey, Alvarez. It’s all hands on deck this weekend. You workin’ the—?”

Carlos shakes his head.

“Not unless there’s a body.”

He scowls and rubs his chest, hoping the chewables he just popped will start working soon.

 

—>o<—

Oswald gazes at the sight before him (what he _can_ of it anyway). Gotham’s undisputed sovereign still manages to live like a king despite the poverty and desperation that continues to eat away at the city. The years have weighed on him (evident by the increased girth of his midsection)—so much in fact, it obstructs his view of the chestnut eyes and spectacled, angular face bobbing between his legs.

The pressure gathers deep and low, rising from Penguin’s curling toes and spreading throughout his thighs and glutes. He clutches the arms of his ostentatious chair and surrenders himself.

In little time, his hammering heart and headache distracts him from the lubricious warmth enveloping him. He closes his eyes to combat the lightheadedness, working to focus his concentration on the decadent sensation between his legs and away from the distracting pressure in his chest, behind his eyes and in his temples.

 _Maybe I should’ve stopped after the first bottle of Cabernet and had only_ **_one_ ** _tiramisu with lunch. Damn it. There goes that blasted knee again..._

Just as he reaches for his crystal tumbler of top shelf, the door to his study opens. He looks up to find Edward standing in the doorway, dressed and primed to paint the town green.

Unlike Penguin, the years have been kind to the lanky devil. Short of a few grey hairs in his temples, some laugh lines and crow’s feet, Edward’s changed little. If anything, Oswald swears he’s only grown _more_ handsome.

“Osw—.”

Nygma raises a brow and smirks at the kneeling brunette who’s diligently working his longtime partner, lover, rival, best friend— _equal_.

“Oh. I didn’t know you were busy.”

The young man tenses and quickly unlatches himself from Penguin. He turns to face the interloper, furiously blushing with embarrassment. He clears his throat and pushes up the glasses that have slipped down his nose. He hurriedly straightens himself and stammers.

“Mr. N-Nyg—Riddler, sir.… I-I-I’m _sorry_. I didn’t know—.”

Edward shakes his head at the young man who looks uncannily similar to how he did during his tenure with the GCPD.

Oswald looks up to the ceiling and raises his hands, splaying his fingers with exasperation.

“ _What the...?_ Didn’t know I was _busy?!”_

The kingpin points an indignant finger at the man.

 _“_ ** _You’re_ ** _the one with the eidetic memory,_ **_Ed_** _! You’ve only bragged endlessly about it the_ **_entire time_ ** _I’ve known you!_ You _knew_ I was conducting my interview with… with...”

Penguin shakes his head as he absently gestures and blinks at the kneeling man now clearing his throat and meekly offering.

“Richard, Mr. Cobblepot. Richard Klinefel—.”

The kingpin glances at the folder containing the young man’s impressive credentials and letters of recommendation. He grabs the neon green post-it note written in Ed’s eccentric script and waves it in the air, emphatically pointing to it. He sprays spittle as he furiously shouts at the emerald-clad man.

“ ** _You’re_ ** _the one who scheduled the candidates for my personal assistant to be interviewed,_ **_Ed_** _!_ ”

Oswald arches a brow at the long, handsome face before him.

“In fact, Robert here…”

The young man clears his throat before meekly correcting him, his voice barely audible.

“ _Richard_ , sir.”

The crime lord tenderly strokes the young man’s face, his voice softening.

“...of course. _Richard_ here was just impressing me with his _enthusiasm_ and _attention_ to detail.”

Penguin’s enforcer walks up behind Ed, rolling his eyes at the egotistical know-it-all before addressing the crime lord.

“Sorry, boss. Everything okay in here?”

The intimidating man with a shaved head takes a peek over Riddler’s shoulder and dismissively remarks.

“Oh. I didn’t know you were still interviewing.”

Penguin huffs with frustration.

“Vict— ** _Vincent!_ ** I’ll _call_ you when I **_need_ ** you! I’m **_busy_** _!_ ”

Edward rolls his eyes. He points a thumb over his shoulder at Penguin’s exiting meathead.

“Far be it from _me_ to meddle in the business of the Aptenodytes patagonicus, but shouldn’t you be looking to replace _that_ idiot rather than interviewing for a...”

Nygma nods towards the kneeling man with an arched brow.

“ _‘Personal’_ assistant?”

He slowly shakes his head and puffs out an amused snort.

“I’ll leave you to your... _vetting process_.”

He arches a brow and tents his fingers, nose wrinkling with excitement.

“Besides, I have _so_ many details to perfect for this weekend. Your Majesty.”

Edward bows and tips his bowler.

“I will just simply bid you _‘adieu’_.”

After the door closes with a click, Penguin rolls his eyes. He puffs out an amused snort recalling when he first bade Edward farewell with those exact words. He fondly pictures Ed’s modest but charmingly eccentric apartment where he not only nursed him back to health—but helped him remember who he was all those years ago.

Penguin takes a quick swig of scotch, glancing at the folder before stretching a wolfish grin.

“Now then. _Richard_. Where were we?”

 

— :: —

Oswald arrives at the club after last call. He doesn’t have to wait long until the final patrons file out. He acquired the space again after Barbara Kean’s departure from the underworld ( _hell, the living world for_ **_that_ ** _matter_ ) not all that long after becoming a mother.

 _Jim’s daughter, Barbara’s probably as old as_ _Martín was when he..._

He shakes his head at and circles back to the hell of Year Zero which is _far_ easier than remembering _that_.

No one could have imagined the special brand of hell that would befall Gotham after the bridges blew, rendering the great city to a No Man’s Land or the the unlikely team Jim Gordon assembled to defend their embattled home. Incredible to think how much has changed in the decade since the hell that Joker and Bane unleashed.

The man’s eyes drift around his now empty, silent club. Despite the alternating name, ownership and décor, one thing never changed: _this_ club has always been _the_ place to be in Gotham. It’s why he was so adamant to acquire the space after helping save his native city from the brink—hoping to somehow restart the metropolis’ barely beating heart after unification.

The upcoming celebration makes Penguin particularly nostalgic and susceptible to the ghosts haunting the place. He experienced some of greatest successes and most crushing defeats here, fighting long and hard to return and _stay_ on top (despite many challenges and challengers even _before_ Batman): Fish, Don Falcone, Sal Maroni and the Sirens. He takes a long drink when he thinks back to the particularly high costs he paid the Galavans and Sofia Falcone.

Even his best friend, lover, nemesis, touchstone, (whatever-the-hell Ed is), was (and remains) the most daunting he ever faced, despite his humble beginnings as the painfully awkward boy man he first encountered at the GCPD.

_“Can I help you?”_

_“I don't think so. Can you?”_

_“What do you want?”_

_“What I want: the poor have it, the rich need it and if you eat it you'll die.”_

_“Do you like riddles?”_

_“No.”_

_“So, do you give up?”_

_“Edward. Nygma. I know who you are.”_

_“Then you know you're standing too close.”_

Incredible to think the gawky, gangling man was the one who found him at death’s door, nursed him back to health, helped him regain his footing and find himself after having lost his mother to the Galavans. Ed helped him clinch Gotham’s mayorship, stole his heart, betrayed and attempted to kill him ( _twice_ ). He liberated him from Arkham and betrayed him for Lee until _finally_ turning full circle to rekindle their delicate alliance during Year Zero, even saving him from _Penn_ of all people.

_“Perhaps, Edward. We really are meant for each other.”_

Oswald puffs out an amused snort and shakes his head.

He and Eddie (saying that _ridiculous_ name, “Riddler”, still pains Oswald) won’t be sharing a bed tonight. Given the unconventional nature of their longtime partnership, arrangement(?) they don’t always, simply taking turns at the other’s respective residence, keeping many clothes and personal effects there. Occasionally, the two even take on other lovers, but they always return to one another.

Despite Ed’s infamy as one of the city’s most notorious villains, it’s never enough for the calculating logician. Whenever the chatter quiets about him or the Gotham Gazette lavishes its attention onto the next villain du jour, the man takes measures to ensure the city’s ignorant masses suffer his wrath. The flamboyant virtuoso is diligently refining the details of his next elaborate plan to terrorize Gotham.

 _Again_.

With his upcoming anniversary bash, Oswald knew Edward couldn’t resist the opportunity to devise some grand scheme to divert the city’s attention to _him_. Gotham’s been abuzz with the Iceberg Lounge’s celebration for months.

Oswald knows a void remains in Edward he’ll never fill. After endless years of torment for his brilliance, he learned to weaponize the very thing for which he was vilified and made a pariah. The craving for the love, attention, praise and validation Ed never received in his formative years _still_ fuel his relentless drive to paralyze their metropolis with his convoluted schemes and force its citizens to tremble in fear and awe of his genius.  

The years have also made Penguin painfully aware of his _own_ demons—his craving for recognition and power, having been overlooked, underestimated and dismissed time and time again for his size, his appearance, his ethnicity, his “impairment”. Those very demons drove (and continue to drive) his single-minded pursuit to rule Gotham’s underworld, costing him dearly over the years.

He looks to the stage where he stood after clinching Gotham’s mayorship: the night he began realizing the depth of Edward’s devotion and how much the man meant to him. It’s also where he later discovered Edward was the responsible for the torment that ultimately cost him the mayorship— _and his life_.

He glances to where he once displayed Ed, remembering how he defeated the man at his own game on that fateful pier with the aid of Freeze and (back then) a very young and frustratingly naïve Ivy Pepper. He shakes his head in disbelief of Poison Ivy’s humble beginnings… even Catwoman’s.

_God, Selina was just about to come into her own back then. Seems so long ago now. That was back when Victor still…_

_Victor._

Like Edward, Penguin thought little of the uncouth man upon first meeting him—merely dismissing him as Falcone’s fearsome attack dog. It appeared Zsasz’s only skills involved brainwashing, torture and murder.

However, as the years progressed, Penguin grew to rely more and more upon him. Despite his off-the-wall comments and less-than-stellar listening skills, Victor was steadfast, highly industrious, enthusiastic about his work and surprisingly loyal _—at least until he wasn’t anymore_.

The pain’s acuity has lessened with time, but he sometimes still feels the dull ache. It’s part of him now: less like his leg’s inflexible scar tissue and more like the remodeling in his bones beneath it. The pain is old, deep and familiar, no longer debilitating him as it once did. Still, every now and then (like his leg), an unexpected move or turn stops him in his tracks.

_“What’s to tell? You blew that kid sky high.”_

_“What?”_

_“You sent that pipsqueak to kingdom come.”_

_“No. That’s not true.”_

_“And I’ll testify to that.”_

_“What?!”_

_“Look, I ain’t takin’ the wrap for no kid murder.”_

As much as it pains Oswald to admit it, he _still_ misses the man. He can still picture Zsasz leaning against the bar with _that smirk_ or intense gaze, remembering the countless times they sat together before that fateful day, many times in complete silence in the quiet club or at the mansion— _never_ having to exchange a word.

_A look was all it took._

Penguin obsessed over the betrayal for the longest, swearing he’d make Victor pay and would have (with his head) had Jim and Harvey not intervened during his trial for Haven. He can still hear the shouting crowd as Zsasz strutted to the guillotine and pictures him with his neck in the lunette awaiting his inevitable sentence.

_“By the power vested in me… by… well, me, I hereby sentence you, Victor Zsasz, to die. Any last words?”_

He puffs out a mirthless snort _still_ trying to glean Victor’s silenced last words despite the years. To this day, he hears the gunfire and sees Harvey Bullock barely saving his former lieutenant from the descending blade. He recalls his heated exchange with Jim.

_“What the HELL are you doing?”_

_“Trying to keep you all from making a terrible mistake.”_

He sidled up to Jim and got up in his frustratingly handsome face.

_“You’ve lost them, Jim. They don’t believe in you anymore. They’re mine now.”_

Penguin absently rubs his chest, remembering how he helplessly watched from the floor as Jim and Harvey made a run for it with Zsasz in tow.

He was still furious with Victor back then, the wound still raw as if it was freshly dealt. He didn’t even realize how badly it still hurt until he watched as Victor turned to look at him from the backseat of Bullock and Gordon’s squad car earlier that day (despite his impudent finger and the headshot the man took at his mayoral campaign poster).

Penguin’s brow knits and he takes another swallow.

Only in the past few years, did he truly begin realizing how much he dismissed Victor and took him for granted. He never once doubted Zsasz’s loyalty, fully convinced his top man would dutifully remain by his side like he always had despite everything.

_I got too distracted with Pax Penguina, the Iceberg Lounge’s grand opening and Sofia Falcone—especially Sofia. And Jim... I didn’t feel the tide shift until it was too late and... it was far too late by then. He couldn’t have felt further away despite sitting right beside me in that pew._

Oswald can still hear Victor eject a final bullet from the chamber of an omnipresent Sig for the fallen man before striding out of the church, ignoring his calls.

_I should’ve seen it sooner. In all the years I’ve known Zsasz, I’ve never seen him look the way he did after word broke of Falcone’s assassination. He looked so… lost. Adrift. Broken? I just never thought Victor felt things like…._

_“Yes, Victor?”_

_“You would’ve told me, right? If you were gonna ice the old man.”_

_“Obviously! Victor, I did not kill Don Falcone.”_

_“Well everyone on the street thinks you did.”_

_“So let ‘em. My hands are clean. You have my word.”_

Penguin absently finishes his drink. He long since put the betrayal behind him, but it still gnawed at him—especially after the surprisingly intimate turn their relationship took.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uh... I started this fic ages ago before Filthycasual seduced me into doing another GorZsasz collab _(Safe Word)_. I’ve made some changes from its original version. I uh… well… I’m a little nervous about this one guys. It’s for my fanfic wifey and it’s the most ambitious thing I’ve done by myself. Oh... and uh... it has Edward Nygma... and I’m writing him for the first time... and I don’t get him. I uh... I’m mildly freaked and hope that I can manage to even get in the ballpark of his character so... *nervously looks side to side*
> 
> There’s gonna be a _lotta_ music interspersed throughout this fic, since it’s what inspired this story in the first place: different sh!t from different eras and genres. I’ll likely reference it, embed links to it or talk about it in the end notes: the first being the title (obvi): “I Put a Spell On You”. It’s an iconic song that’s had some great covers. “Fat Daddy” is one of the great Dinah Washington’s signature pieces.
> 
> As usual, I had no beta so… you guys are my betas. See any errors? Please tell me so I can fix ‘em. I want FC’s gift to be something nice because of all the amazing art… and for being an amazing friend… and everything… :3
> 
> FC: I know one of the listed relationships a Nygmobblepot thingie (of which I know you’re not necessarily a fan, but... you know me... and us... it’s gonna be WAAAY more Zsaszlepot). Anyway. This is for you. I love you, fanfic wifey. You really _are_ the greatest... and the wind beneath my wings and sh!t. I hope that, somehow, someway, you’ll enjoy this fic halfway as much as I enjoy all the amazing sh!t you do for me. I don’t deserve you.


	2. Lover Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Then: Penguin works to move past the unexpected debacle at the original Iceberg Lounge’s opening and receives support from an unexpected source._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter begins with a flashback (denoted by _italics_ ) and starts introducing other POVs. 
> 
> ______
> 
> “Lover Man” is a song written in the ‘40s that’s had a number of covers. I’m gonna say it was popularized by the late, great Billie Holiday but I’m seriously biased ‘cause D’UH. Billie Holiday.

_— >o<— _

_Penguin’s autonomic nervous system is in overdrive. His heart hammers wildly in his chest and he can hear the blood whooshing in his ears. His hands are cold and his body flooded with adrenaline. He clutches at Jim seeking respite, pressing himself closer and closer to the man, looking to shield himself from_ **_him_** _:_

 _Edward but_ **_not_ ** _Edward: fearsome. Terrifying._ **_Ghastly_** _._

_Oswald entreats._

_“Jim,_ **_please!_ ** _Don’t let him—.”_

_It takes Penguin a moment to register the detective’s hand on his face._

_“Oswald._ **_Calm_ ** _down.”_

_The man’s hand coaxes his face upward. Oswald dares a glance into surprisingly concerned blue eyes. The detective addresses him in a firm but reassuring voice._

_“Whatever you see... it’s not real. It’s only Crane’s fear juice making you—“_

_A familiar, sing-song voice interrupts._

_“Thanks, Jim.”_

_Zsasz separates the detective from The Boss._

_“I got it.”_

_Victor’s voice lowers and grows measured. Fixed._

_“I’ll take it from here.”_

_Penguin feels Victor’s firm and sure grip on his shoulder followed by the man’s leathered glove on his face, guiding his attention away from Jim. He turns and peers up into the impossibly dark eyes of Zsasz’s stalwart visage._

_“Boss._ **_Look_ ** _at me.”_

_Victor softly shakes Penguin. The gloved hand at his cheek gives a couple of reassuring strokes. He takes the smaller man’s chin into his thumb and index finger, tilting it upward._

_“You_ **_with_ ** _me?”_

_Penguin blinks and nods, finally coming to himself._

_“Y-yes, Victor.”_

_Zsasz’s eyes squint with concern. He presses his lips together and nods out towards the crowd still gathered in the club._

_“You wanna handle ‘em?”_

_Victor arches a brow and leans in._

_“Or you want_ **_me_ ** _to do it?”_

_Penguin blinks and softly shakes his head, finally coming to himself with the subject of business._

_“N-no, Victor. Thank you. I’ll…”_  
_  
_ _Oswald’s gaze is lured by the spectre of_ **_him_**. _Horror and panic begin taking hold. The instant he begins trembling, the contact at his face and shoulder tighten, shifting his attention away from the ice sculpture._

 _“_ ** _Boss_** _.” Victor clenches his teeth. “_ ** _Don’t_ ** _look at him.”_

_Victor’s tone leaves no room for argument._

_“Look at_ **_me_** _.” He looks Penguin square in the eye, narrowing his gaze. “You_ **_got_ ** _this.”_

_Victor punctuates his statement with a curt nod. Penguin nods and takes a couple of deep breaths to collect himself. All the while, Zsasz straightens his tie and smooths down his suit. Oswald finally collects himself enough to face the crowd that is certain to skewer him in the press tomorrow morning._

_As Penguin turns to face them, he notices Jim watching on and glancing up at Zsasz, whose capable and reassuring presence he feels directly behind him._

 

_— 卌 —_

_The Boss improves greatly thanks to Jim’s tip about using water to combat the toxin’s effects. Zsasz regularly glances back at Penguin through the rearview mirror throughout the return drive to the Van Dahl estate._

_After Don Falcone left Gotham and the city fell to Penguin, Zsasz became well-acquainted with the kingpin’s well-established understanding(?) with Gordon—having done numerous favors for the man over the years (like visiting former Commissioner Loeb on his behalf)._

_Victor recalls the time the lawman visited Penguin after he hit Hobbs’ campaign office. The GCPD’s Strike Force surprised him just as he had the mayoral candidate in his sights. After taking an unexpected bullet to the left shoulder, Zsasz was forced to abort his mission, flee the scene and return to the mansion._

_To add insult to injury, he couldn’t even tend to the wound himself, lacking the required dexterity in his non-dominant hand. To this day he can’t decide which stung more: reporting his failure to Penguin or sitting hot-faced as The Boss unceremoniously dug out the bullet, cleaned the wound and stitched him up (despite his own personal hell with the Galavans holding his mother hostage)._

_Gordon showed up not long afterward. Undeterred by the misery of his gunshot wound and radiating pain throughout his shoulder girdle, Zsasz insisted Gilzean help him back into his shoulder holster the moment he became aware of Jim’s arrival. He’d be damned if he’d fail The Boss twice in one night._

_Victor pushed past the searing pain and stood in the hallway outside the dining room as the men talked—fully prepared to unholster his Sig with his non-dominant hand if necessary. Only then did he begin realizing how much history the men shared._

_Zsasz circles back to the evening’s earlier events. Victor knows he hasn’t been back in Penguin’s employ for some time but he can’t help but think of how Penguin sought out the detective and not_ **_him_** _. It niggles at him._

“Jim, **please**. Don’t let him—”

And the way Gordon touched and talked to The Boss?

 _Despite Victor’s deep respect for Jim, the detective’s behavior was a little too…_ **_familiar_ ** _for his liking._

_—_

_Zsasz assists Penguin out of the car after they arrive at the estate, keeping his hand on the small of his back while he escorts him inside. The Boss is still a little out of it, hobbling around in a daze. In all the time Victor’s known him, he’s never seen him in such a state. The man looks positively haunted._

_He accompanies Penguin upstairs into his room. He typically doesn’t pass its threshold, but this night was anything but normal (even by Gotham standards). He escorts the smaller man inside and guides him to his seating area. Victor pours and offers Penguin the cup of tea from the tray Olga left out for him._

_“Th-thank you, Victor.”_

_The henchman makes his way to the door, crosses his arms and leans against the wall. He silently watches Penguin absently sip his tea and listens to the cup rattle against the saucer in the man’s trembling hands._

_“Boss. Gordon said water helps. Maybe you should go shower—”_

_“Victor, I’m fine.”_  
_  
_ _“No. You’re_ **_not_**.”

_He quickly approaches, removes the saucer and cup from Penguin’s hand and sets it down on the serving tray. He takes Oswald by the forearm and guides him to his bathroom. Victor stops at the doorway, glances into it and returns the man’s gaze, tilting his head towards it._

_The kingpin acquiesces with a nod and limps inside. Victor closes the door behind him and quickly makes his way downstairs._

 

_— >o<— _

_After hobbling out of the shower, Penguin peeks from behind his bathroom door into his empty bedroom. He smiles when he finds his robe and pajamas neatly laid out for him and the tea service gone._

He called Olga.

_After slowly, methodically putting them on, he notices the crystal tumbler of Macallan Rare Cask with a mineral water back. He puffs out a delighted snort._

Victor.

_— >::<— _

_The following morning, Penguin heads to the dining room and finds the tea service waiting for him. Olga walks out with the serving tray and sets it before him._

_“Dobroye ut—good_ **_morning_** _, Mr. Oswald.”_

_“Olga.”_

_Penguin expects his customary quiche or crepes, so he’s surprised when she removes the lid and reveals eggs benedict, asparagus, potato patties and fruit. He blinks in puzzlement._

_“What’s all this?”_

_“Mr. Victor say you were sick last night and have to eat. He tell me before he leave.”_

_Penguin nods with understanding._

_“Of course. Last night.”_

_She shakes her head._

_“No. This morning.”_

_Penguin does a double take._

_“W-wait. Was he here all night?”_

_The woman nods and points a thumb out the back door._

_“He…_ _leave when he hear you wake. Say he see you at the club later.”_

_He blinks in astonishment and nods as he slices into an egg stack topped with hollandaise sauce._

_“Of course. Thank you, Olga.”_

_—_

_Oswald arrives at the club for his regular meeting with Mr. Penn, expecting Zsasz to arrive much later in the day given the long hours he spent keeping watch over him. To his surprise, Victor’s already waiting for their briefing._

_Penguin conducts business as usual, occasionally glancing at Zsasz in hopes of finding some tell, anything that might reveal his thoughts or feelings about the night prior—but the man’s impassive face reveals nothing. If anything, Victor’s uncharacteristically quiet, refraining from his trademark cheeky remarks._

_After the meeting’s conclusion, Penguin sits at his desk. He squeezes his lips and eyes shut in response to the unflattering photo of him clinging to Jim Gordon on the front page of the Gotham Gazette beneath the “Penguin or Chicken?” headline. He already saw it over breakfast earlier, but it still smarts._

_He puffs in frustration and takes a swig from his tumbler. Only then does Victor finally break the silence from the other side of the room, shifting and taking a breath. Penguin braces himself for whatever insanity might spill from the man’s lips._

_“Screw those guys, Boss.”_

_Penguin puffs out a surprised snort, reminded of his sainted mother’s constant reassurance when he was a child._

“Small minds discuss people, Oswald. Large minds discuss ideas.”

_Oswald soon recalls the time he spoke of his mother to Edward when the man nursed him back to health._

“Oswald, Don’t listen to the other children. You’re handsome and clever and someday you will be a great man. She said that every time. That’s all I have left now. Memories. And they’re like daggers to my heart.”

“Not forever. These were Miss Kringle’s. It’s all I have left to remember her by. But when I look at them, I don’t feel sadness anymore. I feel gratitude and do you know why?”  
  
“No. And I don’t care. This little visit is over. I will just simply bid you _adieu_.”

“Mr. Penguin. For some men, love is a source of strength. But for you and I, it will always be our most crippling weakness.”  
  
“Move aside, Ed.”

“We are better off unencumbered.”  
  
“What did you say?”  
  
“You said yourself. Your mother is dead because of your _weakness_. But what you need to realize is that your weakness was _her_.

_Penguin can still feel the knife he held to Edward’s neck._

“My mother was a saint! The only person who truly cared about me. And how she’s gone. And I have nothing left.”

_His eyes sting as he recalls Edward’s words._

“A man with nothing that he loves is a man that cannot be bargained. A man that cannot be betrayed. A man who answers to no one but himself. And that is the man I see before me: a free man.”

_Oswald comes back to himself._

I **am** a free man.

_He looks to Zsasz and offers a modest smile._

_“Thank you, Victor.”_

_—_

_Later, Penguin and Victor are alone again at the club after hours. The kingpin’s still trying to piece together the events of the prior evening as he drinks his top shelf and walks the now silent floors._

_Oswald’s still mortified by his behavior and rattled by the fact Edward still has such a powerful hold on him. He since learned Crane’s fear toxin exaggerated one’s greatest fear. The revelation was no surprise to the kingpin, but its impact was. He still doesn’t know if it’s Edward himself or his feelings for the man that most frighten him._

_Penguin loved unwinding with music and there was nothing quite like Sassy’s rich, velvety alto. The largo tempo of Clifford Brown’s piano chords and his dreamy glissando introduce_ [ _Sarah Vaughan’s cover of “Lover Man”_](http://youtu.be/NZsAmt7Nsig) _:_

I don't know why  
But I'm feeling so sad  
I long to try  
Something I never had...

_Oswald gazes up at the man him he loved so deeply as the memories of his dashed hopes swirl round his head. He slips right back into the longing and ache he fought so hard to overcome before the prior night’s debacle._

Never had no kissin'  
Oh, what I've been missin'  
Lover man, oh, where can you be?

_Victor’s unexpected presence and voice behind him pulls him from his reverie._

_“May I?”_

_Penguin startles._

_“W-what?”_

_Just as he turns to face his enforcer, Victor takes the crystal tumbler from his hand. He sets it on a nearby table and returns, looking Oswald square in the eye. Penguin replies with indignance and confusion._

_“V-Victor, what the hell are you…?”_

_The kingpin’s words die on his lips the moment Zsasz stops right in front of him. His breath catches in his throat and he tenses the moment the man’s slips his hand beneath his arm and around his waist. Before he realizes it, he finds his left hand in the man’s leathered right. Oswald softly shakes his head and blinks in astonishment at their close proximity—and how uncannily well they fit together._

...Got a moon above me  
But no one to love me  
Lover man, oh, where can you be?

_— 卌 —_

_Victor doesn’t know what possessed him to dance with The Boss, but anything was better than watching him mope around and stare up sadly at Riddles again. It reminds him too much of the way Liza softened Don Falcone._

“Sir. Let me go to work.”

“No. If Fish and the others (and there must be others) want me to step away so badly, maybe it’s time. Why not? Why am I still fighting? For what?”

“For respect. You’re Don Carmine Falcone.”

“Respect? Who cares? They all want me to live in the country with Liza. I would like that. That’s what I want, too. So why not do it?”

“Please. Don’t talk that way. And just me on my own? I can take out Fish’s crew _—easy_.”

“You’re not listening, Victor. Your job is to keep me and Liza safe through the coming transaction. That’s all.”

“Yes, sir.”

 _Victor recalls his outrage when Penguin kept Don Falcone waiting._ **_Nobody_ ** _kept the old man waiting. He can still picture Oswald on his knees, humbly apologizing before delivering the harsh truth about the young woman with whom the great man had become so smitten. Hard to believe the same soft-faced man was the one who now gave his orders (and whom he currently held in his arms) were one in the same._

_Zsasz gazes past those fluttering lashes into the same pale eyes, watching Penguin’s mouth softly open and close. Victor’s eyes flicker with remembrance of how similarly Oswald looks to the way he did that night: uncertain. Hesitant. Searching._

_The Boss’ once rigid body gradually softens and shyly eases into his touch. Once Penguin relaxes and slowly nudges himself against his chest, Victor’s brow subtly crinkles with surprise._

_As Zsasz sways to the lazy tempo, he catches the lighter citrus notes of Penguin’s spicy cologne._

Is that clove? Pepper?

_He feels himself lulled and tempered by Oswald’s touch, struck by how much his body stirs with it. He’s been in close physical proximity to Penguin countless times over the years, but not for this long… not this much… never like this._

_Victor takes his hand from Oswald’s and slips it behind the man’s back. The moment he feels Oswald wrap his arms around his shoulders, he’s surprised by his own barely audible sigh._

_— >o<— _

_Oswald knows he isn’t with Edward, but that doesn’t matter right now. He doesn’t care that Victor isn’t the man he loves or wants. He still finds comfort in the man’s arms and loses himself in the rise and fall of The Divine One’s velvety voice._

_Penguin closes his eyes and mentally replaces Victor’s jacket and vest with Edward’s wool blend suit. He imagines his hand cradled in Edward’s bare palm, held by long, slender fingers—not the leather of Victor’s glove. The harder he imagines, the more he melts into Victor’s embrace. The moment he does, Zsasz releases his hand and wraps both arms around him, softly swaying until the song’s conclusion._

_Afterwards, Victor releases him, collects his crystal tumbler and returns it. His henchman circles back to his previous spot and reaches into his pocket for his phone. He casually stretches out and flips it open to read some texts as if nothing happened. Oswald distractedly finishes the remainder of his scotch and quickly follows it with another—at a loss for what to do next. Anything is better than waiting for Victor to turn and look at him with that typically opaque expression._

_—_

_After returning to his booth, Victor glances at a few texts he felt drop in. They’re from Saffronia and Egypt (the twins) who tracked down addresses for Nathan Shemko and Zane Krupka (the photographer and reporter responsible for the front page of the Gazette)._

 

_— 卌 —_

_A couple of nights later, Victor walks out of Shemko’s darkroom with a few rolls of film in his pocket and saunters over the the man’s desk. There, he finds an envelope with “Iceberg Lounge” written in a corner. He opens it and studies the photos of Penguin at the club’s grand opening. In the first few, he’s puffed up like peacock strutting around the club before Merton’s gang showed up._

_He sifts through a few more photos until he happens across another one from earlier the same day. The Boss is wearing that black houndstooth suit. Zsasz drags a leathered finger from the top of Penguin’s head down to his studded Prada wingtip Oxfords. He tilts his head._

He looks really nice in that suit.

_In the next photo, Penguin and Jim appear to be squaring off during a “talk”. Zsasz’s eyes then drift to the unfolded Gazette on the man’s desk with the unflattering headline of The Boss with Detective Gordon. Just then, he hears the telltale sounds of the front door being unlocked._

_—_

_Nathan Shemko staggers into his apartment a bit loaded. As luck would have it, he’s not alone. Right behind him is Zane Krupka—the guy who wrote the story. Victor grins._

Looks like it’s my lucky day.

_The men are still riding the high from their front page headline story and photo. They’re bumbling around and leaning against one another, offering congratulatory high fives and howling with laughter._

_“God! And the look on Penguin’s face?!”_

_The moment they see the man in Shemko’s apartment, their faces drop and they go silent. Victor cheerily waves._

_“Hey, guys.”_

_—_

_Zsasz smiles as he prepares to remove the hoods from the two restrained men. This part’s always fun: watching people’s reactions once they find themselves in the belly of the beast._

_Victor’s pretty excited about this particular play date. Most times, he only gets one playmate at a time in his basement. This time, he manages two. He even had to pull out his other barber chair he set aside after accidentally puncturing the seat—having gotten a little too excited and careless severing a man’s femoral artery._

_He frowns down at the duct tape covering the puncture—annoyed with himself for not repairing it before entertaining “guests”, but it's soon forgotten with the promise of a little fun. He playfully raises his shoulders with excitement, grinning and biting his lower lip._

Double prizes.

_Victor simultaneously unveils the men. They first squint in reaction to the bright lights, but their eyes soon widen once they’re face to face with him again. Shemko, the photographer, looks positively terrified. Krupka’s clearly frightened too, but he tries to keep a stiff upper lip._

_Zsasz’s face splits into a wide smile. He raises his brow and playfully scrunches up his nose._

_Shemko immediately mutters and nervously shakes his head, while Krupka’s eyes nervously dart around. He tries to talk, but the duct tape affixed to his mouth makes him impossible to understand._

_“Oh. Sorry ‘bout that. Hang on.”_

_The moment Zsasz unsheathes his large trailing point, Shemko’s frightened eyes grow larger. He begins shaking and yelling through the duct tape. Victor slips the tip of the knife behind the man’s ear (spine flat against it) to slice the tape and rip it off._

_Shemko instantly begins pleading as Victor turns his attention to Krupka._

_“Oh-oh-oh my god. M-M-Mr. Zsasz… P-p-please don’t kill me!”_

_After Victor removes the reporter’s duct tape, the man tries to stay calm as he addresses the infamous man._

_“M-Mr. Zsasz. Y-you can’t do this. Haven’t you heard of the free press?”_

_Victor grins as the man’s eyes dart nervously around his basement._

_“Can’t do this? Sure about that?” He arches a brow. “Looks like I just did.”_

_Zsasz takes the man’s forearm and shakes it, but it’s firmly affixed to the arm of the barber chair. He shrugs._

_“I dunno, Zane. Ya don’t seem all that free to me.”_

_Victor leans towards Shemko._

_“What do_ **_you_** _think, Nathan? I mean, I looked through your proofs. You take some great photos. Gotta real eye for the details. Does Zane here look very free to you?”_

_“N-n-no. N-no, he doesn’t.”_

_The instant Victor reaches for his shoulder holster, Shemko begins pleading._

_“Oh, god! Mr. Zsasz! **Please** tell Penguin….” _

_Victor briefly tilts his head and scrunches his face before suddenly raising his brow with understanding._

_“Oh. I get ‘chya now.”_

_He places a reassuring hand on both men’s shoulders._

_“No guys. There’s been a misunderstanding. It’s not like that at all.”_

_He removes his shoulder rig and nods on the way to his workbench to set down his holster._

_“This isn’t business.”_

_He removes his jacket, hangs it from a nearby meathook and turns to the men. He unholsters a GSR and raises it, shaking his head._

_“Business gets the Sig.”_

_Zsasz reholsters his weapon and slowly unsheathes his favorite Bowie knife. He twirls it between his fingers, his grin predatory._

_“Personal gets_ **_the blade_** _.”_

 

— ¿? —

After meticulously refining the details of his plan, Edward heads to the northern part of Gotham to check in with the man who’s the lynchpin to this weekend’s pièce de résistance. He wraps his coat tighter and shoves his hands further into his pockets after knocking on the cavernous door.

The frosty door opens to Freeze’s famously disinterested expression. He sighs and greets Riddler with his characteristically detached indifference.

“Nygma.”

Ed tries to tempering his excitement, but he’s practically giddy with the promise of Saturday’s coup.

“I came to check on your progress. Are we go for this weekend?”

“You _really_ wanna do this at the pier?”

“Freeze, we’ve discussed this. Yes. It _has_ to be there.”

Freeze presses his lips together and sighs.

“Fine. Yeah. Everything’ll be ready—but after all this time, you two should _seriously_ figure out your shit in a way that doesn’t involve me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously though. You guys who actually think about plots ahead of time? I dunno how the h3ll y’all do it. This is hard! Oh and... as I look back at this chapter it finally occurs to me what a schmaltzy, predictable and forumulaic b!tch I am. _*Jess shakes head and chides herself as she closes her eyes and clicks the [Post Without Preview] button, hoping for the best*_ Seriously, y’all. Lemme know if I gotta mop up stuff. I’m probably prematurely ejacu-posting as usual.  
>    
>  _For those still reading—thank you. Really._


	3. Someone Who Can Do Something For You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Then: On the heels of his moment with Victor, Oswald finds himself less haunted by the past and more focused on the present._
> 
> ______
> 
> Now: Oswald hopes to enlist Edward’s help with his upcoming celebration, but the man’s more interested in his own plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“I've heard it said_   
>  _That the thrill of romance_   
>  _Can be like a heavenly dream…”_   
>  _—lyrics to “Lover Man”_

—>o<—

Oswald works hard to ignore the increasing stiffness in his knee, but it’s only growing more painful. He burrows further beneath the covers to the sound of Ed humming a tune. Penguin opens an eye and finds himself diagonally sprawled across the bed, his head far into Ed’s side of it. He takes a deep breath, inhaling as much of the man’s lingering scent as he can before puffing out a huge sigh. He grunts and grumbles, rearranging himself and the pillows surrounding him as Edward calls out.

“Good morning, sleepy head. Well… not morning for too much longer.”

Oswald groans.

“Are you kidding me?”

“Nope. You have… thirteen minutes and… forty-nine seconds… Correction: forty-six…”

“Okay, Ed. I _get_ it.”

Penguin kicks off his covers and huffs.

“Dammit.”

Oswald squints at Edward, now approaching the bed and reaching for his ankles. He rubs his eyes and smiles at the promise of what’s to come.

Edward’s well-practiced hand reaches beneath Oswald’s right leg behind the knee, while the other firmly, deliberately rubs the inflexible scar tissue around and beneath it, gradually making his way upward to his outer thigh. Ed frowns.

“Your iliotibial band is inflamed. I can feel it through your pajamas. You could really benefit from some cryotherapy.”

Edward slides his hand upward and plants the heel of his hand beneath Oswald’s hip, just inferior to his greater trochanter. He lifts Oswald’s knee and swivels it medially and laterally, innervating the man’s hip. Penguin groans in response to the delicious pleasure with a hint of pain.

“Oh, Ed. Right _there_.”

Edwards grins and arches a brow.

“Ah. Like that, do you?”

Oswald purrs.

“Oh, yesss.”

“Then wait ‘til you see what else I have in store for you, my liege.”

Oswald bites his lower lip as Edward coaxes him onto his stomach, his breath accelerating with excitement. Penguin groans with pleasure when Ed leans over and eases his elbow into his aching right glute. Oswald groans, then sighs the moment he feels Ed reach for his ankle with his free hand—only to feel the man stop.

“Ed?”

“ _Say it,_ Oswald.”

Penguin huffs with frustration.

_“Ed!”_

Edward purrs.

“You know how this works. You’re not averse to a little quid pro quo are you? Speaking of, were you aware that in the sixteenth century—.”

Penguin raises both hands in surrender.

“Fine, Ed. Okay!”

He grumbles.

“You’re the Daddy.”

“I’m sorry, Oswald. _What_ was that? I couldn’t quite hear you.”

“ _Dammit, Ed!_ You _heard_ me!”

Ed releases Oswald’s ankle and lifts his elbow from the man’s aching hip.

“Very well then. Have it your way.”

“Ed. _Wait._ **_Please._** You’re…”

Oswald puffs out a frustrated sigh before turning to look at the smirking man looming above him. He acquiesces.

“You’re the Daddy.”

The lanky man clucks low and throaty.

“That’s what I thought.”

The moment Oswald feels that delicious pressure back on his glute and Edward lifting his heel to abduct and adduct his hip, he melts. He breathlessly replies in response to his relaxing hip.

“Oh _god,_ Ed. That feels _so_ good.”

Ed cradles Oswald’s ankle in the crook of his elbow, freeing his left hand to press a soft fist into the man’s silk pajamaed right glute, all the while keeping an elbow firmly fixed on Oswald’s hip.

“Oswald… your deep lateral rotators are just so _… hypertonic_. Like right here. Your piriformis….”

“Oh god.”

“And here. Your superior gemellus….”

“Oh, Ed.”

“And inferior gemellus….”

Oswald groans.

“Yes.”

“Your obturator internus…”

“Right there.”

“Your quadratus femoris…”

“Please don’t stop.”

—

Oswald rolls over after Ed finishes up his right leg and stretches the left side of his back. He sticks out his belly and stretches like a kitten. He flutters his lashes at Edward from the bed, coquettishly running his foot up and down the man’s suited thigh. Nygma’s wearing one of his more classic, green silk suits—mercifully absent of all those oversized question marks.

“Do you _really_ have to leave so early?”

Ed leans over, reaches for Oswald’s wrists and hoists him upright on the bed. He straightens the collar of Oswald’s pajamas and smiles.

“I still have details I must refine for this weekend.”

Penguin presses his lips together and nods, working to hide his disappointment. His eye drifts down to Ed’s dangling tie and open suit jacket. He reaches to straighten Ed and button him up, suddenly recognizing his old tie pin.

_“I removed the bullets when you were knocked out, right before I called them.”_

He can still see Ed’s stunned face.

_“In the back seat? The pin I used to unlock my cuffs?”_

_“My tie pin. I thought it should be personal.”_

_“You were just trying to make me think I had the upper hand.”_

_“It all fell into place.”_

_“I know you, Ed. I may be driven by my emotions, but you’re driven by something much more predictable: a desperate compulsive need to finish what you’ve started in exacting fashion.”_

_“Why didn’t you just kill me Oswald?”_

_“You were the one time I let love weaken me, and I want you around as a constant reminder to never make that mistake again.”_

Oswald crinkles his brow as he fingers the old pin. He replies in a faraway voice.

“So you keep reminding me.”

Penguin gazes up into those chestnut eyes.

“Ed, I have a big weekend too. I mean... this weekend is a huge event for everyone. _Even us._ I could really use your help…”

“But you have Klinefelter now. Besides, I can’t think of a better way to ‘break him in’. Can you? What were those strengths again? Ah, yes. ‘Enthusiasm’ and ‘attention to detail’.”

Edward nuzzles Oswald’s ear.

“Besides, I think it’s a perfect opportunity for you to… ‘test his mettle’. Don’t you?”

Oswald softly gasps with Ed’s hot breath in his ear. He leans into the man’s mouth, only to watch him quickly pull away and head for the door—grabbing his bowler from the hat rack as he exits.

“Good day, Mr. Cobblepot.”

Edward quickly descends the stairs. Once he arrives at the bottom landing, he notices Klinefelter patiently awaiting Oswald in the parlor. Riddler hollers back at the young man as he strides out the front door.

“He’s all yours!”

 

_— >o<— _

_After dancing with Victor, Penguin’s uncertain about how (or if) he should even broach the subject, especially when Zsasz continues behaving as he always has. Oswald endlessly ruminates over it, unable to shake the memory. He still can’t divine Victor’s motivations for initiating the moment and finds himself craving more of his attention._

_He revisits their dance over and over, conjuring the feel of Zsasz’s well-muscled body and his personal scent—sandalwood with low, lingering notes of vetiver... leather and tobacco. Despite Oswald’s desire to return to his arms, he struggles the way he once did with Edward. The painful memory of how badly things ended between them only serve to make him more uncertain._

_After a few days, Penguin arrives at the club and finds a black matte box on his desk. His head tilts in curiosity as he opens it. Inside, he finds a few rolls of film atop a short note written in a shaky script indicative of duress with telltale signs of blood spatter. He takes a roll of film and picks up the note:_

Mr. Cobblepot,

Mr. Shemko and I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive our mischaracterization of the Iceberg Lounge’s grand opening.

Please accept our sincere and heartfelt apologies if you felt maligned in any way.

We did not intend to besmirch or upset you.

Respectfully,

Zane Krupka

Nathan Shemko

_He sets the note aside and looks back into the box. Inside, there are several photographs. The first is of Krupka writing his apology. The subsequent photos chronicle the man’s exquisite torture: multiple cuts and stab wounds, the removal of his hand, his bowels being spilt and a final image of his eviscerated corpse._

_He also sifts through images of Shemko’s torture. Penguin smiles and fingers the familiar gloved hand stabilizing the man’s head to excise his eye from its socket. Another photo shows the orb dangling from its bloody cavity and the final photo displays the man’s barely recognizable face in a pool of blood._

_Only then does Oswald look back into the box. He moves aside the folded Gazette with the unflattering headline to unveil a severed hand alongside a cloudy, hazel eye with the optic nerve still attached._

_Oswald holds a hand to his mouth, softly sighing._

Victor.

_—_

_Later, after adjourning the daily Pax Penguina briefing, Oswald turns to Zsasz._

_“Victor, before you go, I’d like to speak to you for a moment.”_

_“Sure thing, Boss.”_

_Mr. Penn closes the door behind him after he exits. Penguin’s face grows warm as he approaches his lieutenant. He clears his throat before addressing the man. His usual confidence is woefully lacking._

_“Victor… I wanted to say that… all the things you’ve done for me these past few days... they’ve not gone unnoticed. I just…”_

_Oswald reaches for Victor’s forearm, but stops just short of touching him. He looks down to the floor and knits his brow. He takes a determined breath before returning Victor’s gaze._

_“I wanted to thank you.”_

_Oswald finally musters the courage to touch the man, inadvertently caressing the small patch of bare skin between his glove and the cuff of his sleeve._

_“I appreciate your efforts, Victor. Truly. They... mean a great deal to me.”_

_Zsasz blinks at the surprisingly intimate sensation of Penguin’s fingertips ghosting the inside of his wrist. He stares down at The Boss’ hand on his forearm before casually shrugging and grinning in spite of himself._

_“Don’t mention it.”_

_—::—_

_Penguin’s still very interested in Zsasz’s attention in the days following their brief talk, but the best he can manage is to linger around the man’s orbit. Every day, he spends more time styling himself, taking special care to select his suit and accessories._

_Once at the club, the kingpin stands before his icy prisoner whenever Zsasz sits at the bar or in a booth. He swirls his drink and nervously bites a nail, surreptitiously glancing at his henchman whenever he’s not looking. He repeatedly visits Edward, no longer motivated to look at him. Instead, he hopes to catch Victor’s attention and invite the man’s touch._

_— >z<— _

_Victor sits at the bar of the empty club and idly watches The Boss stare at Riddles again. He can’t help but notice how much more time he spends out of his office just hanging around. Zsasz has thought a lot about the other night and The Boss since then, still trying to figure out why he spends so much time in front of the Nygmacicle. He doesn’t get it._

_Zsasz thinks back to The Boss’ inaugural bash. He was surprised by how concerned Penguin was after Butch strangled Nygma. Victor shakes his head, remembering how he looked to the stage once he righted himself after Gilzean tossed him over the bar. He thinks back to how smiley and touchy-feely Gotham’s newly-elected mayor was with his Chief Of Staff, having dealt with the bruiser himself after Victor failed him._

Again.

 _Victor huffs and sucks his teeth with annoyance at his bungle. He crosses his arms and frowns, convinced The Boss is_ **_still_ ** _as moony-eyed over Nygma as he was back then. He shakes his head_ _and bluntly quips._

_“I dunno why you keep him around.”_

_Penguin startles at the unsolicited statement._

_Zsasz continues, his tone matter-of-fact._

_“You need someone who can_ **_do_ ** _something for you. He_ **_can’t_** _.”_

_Oswald shakes his head and starts doing that huffy thing he does when he’s challenged._

_“I have my reasons, Victor.”_

_Zsasz casually shrugs._

_“You’re The Boss.”_

_Penguin blinks and shakes his head, growing defensive._

_“And what would you have me do then?”_

_Zsasz rises from the booth and nonchalantly shrugs. He tilts his head, draws up one side of his mouth and arches a brow as he stalks forward. Victor squints at the rising flush of Penguin’s cheeks and fluttering lashes. His voice grows throaty and suggestive._

_“Find someone who_ **_can_** _.”_

_Victor locks eyes with Oswald as he prowls up. Penguin stands motionless, softly shaking his head and gaping as he approaches. Zsasz takes Oswald’s tumbler and places it atop the bar with a soft clink. He returns to the kingpin and takes him by the wrist. Penguin shakes his head and takes a step back. He attempts to pull his arm back, nostrils flaring as he does._

_“Victor! What are you—?”_

_Penguin looks down at Victor’s gloved hand and his breath catches in his throat. When he returns the man’s gaze, the words die on his lips. Victor presses on. He places his hand on the small of Penguin’s back and maneuvers him to face his arrested adversary._

_Zsasz stands directly behind Cobblepot and places his leathered hands on the man’s hips._ _He closes his eyes and deeply inhales Oswald’s cologne with lighter hints of clary sage._ _Victor lowers his hips and leans in, purring into the smaller man’s ear._

 _“See,_ **_he’s in there. You’re_** _… out_ **_here_** _.”_

_Penguin softly quivers with Victor’s proximity. The warm breath and lips grazing his ear make the hairs on his neck stand on end. Zsasz stands perfectly still, patiently waiting and appraising Oswald’s tells, curious to see what the man does next. He watches the normally confident and arrogant man struggle to determine his next move._

_Oswald silently takes a deep breath and nervously exhales it before taking a cautious step back until he’s flush against the man._

_Zsasz’s mouth stretches wide in response. He watches the rise and fall of Penguin’s chest and the color spreading in the man’s cheeks, neck and ears. Victor leans in and nudges Oswald’s ear, his lips grazing the shell of it as he murmurs._

_“You want_ **_me_ ** _to do something for you, Boss?”_

_Oswald’s breath hitches. He nervously nods before shyly whispering._

_“Yes.”_

_Victor takes Penguin’s ear into his mouth, breathing slowly and deeply. He snakes his arms beneath the smaller man’s, just above his waist and lowers his hips to press his body closer. He releases the man’s ear and lowers his mouth to take a slow, soft bite at his neck. Oswald trembles as Victor slowly, luxuriously rubs his chest with his gloved hand._

_Penguin softly startles and jerks the moment Victor licks at his neck, inadvertently rubbing himself against the man behind him. He gasps at the intimate contact. After a several long moments, Oswald cautiously rubs himself against Victor._

_The subtle grind of The Boss’ hips encourages Zsasz to painstakingly inch his left hand past Penguin’s waistline to rub the top of the man’s thigh. When Oswald adjusts his hips to follow his exploring hand, Victor drags it upward and slowly takes the man’s crotch into it._

_He takes Penguin’s neck between his teeth and lazily rubs the kingpin through his suit trousers with gradually increasing pressure. Victor purrs when the man’s body begins melting and meeting his hand. The crime lord forgets his shyness and slowly grinds himself into Zsasz’s palm; his breathing accelerates._

_Zsasz decadently fondles Penguin through his trousers, purring with satisfaction as the man stiffens. Oswald’s pulse quickens beneath his tongue as he captures as much of the man’s waking length as possible, using the slide of his leather gloves against Penguin’s fine trousers to its full advantage. It isn’t long before eager hips chase his stroking hand; his arousal quickly builds._

_Victor glances up at Nygma and growls into Oswald’s ear._

_“Ya know, Boss, if you look at him just right… looks like he’s tryin’ to stop me from touching you.”_

_Victor grins when Oswald’s head presses against his chest and his hips jerk forward, moaning and eagerly thrusting. Zsasz presses more of himself against Oswald and his body stirs in response. Penguin’s grinding hips produce just enough friction to make him feel the swell and sweet ache between his legs. He can already feel the gradual warmth and tightness in his hips and thighs._

_“You_ **_like_ ** _that, don’t you?”_

_When Oswald whimpers, Victor suggestively murmurs._

_“Well… what d’ya say we make him…_ **_more_ ** _jealous?”_

_Oswald is slack-jawed with desire. He lolls his head against Victor, gazing back up at the man with unfocused eyes. He eagerly nods._

_Zsasz replies with a lustful chuckle and replaces his left hand with his right, still fondling Penguin through his pants. He raises left hand to his mouth, unfastening the strap of his glove with his teeth. He takes the first three fingers of his glove between his incisors and pulls his hand from it, quickly slipping the glove into a pocket._

_He returns his hand to the front of Oswald’s trousers, rubbing the man’s tenting arousal with the hollow of his hand. It sets Victor’s teeth on edge. Zsasz can feel his breathing grow louder and accelerated. He grits his teeth, willing himself to slow down… stretch it out, but…_

It’s The Boss… and he **looks** and **smells**   **so** **good**... You wanna **touch** him… because you shouldn’t. **You’re not supposed to.** You’ve **always** **wanted** **to**... touch him… mess him up… tangle your fingers in his hair… his clothes… wrinkle ‘em… **tear** ‘em…

To  **touch** him.

**Right here.**

**Right now.**

Just like **this**.

 **Strip** him.

 **Lick** him.

 **Bite**.

 **Taste**.

 **Eat**.

**_Fuck._ **

**_Especially_ ** **fuck.**

 _Victor shuts his eyes as he pictures it. He clenches his teeth and his breathing grows heavier… louder…_ **_faster_** _… and_ **_fuck_ ** _if the mere thought of The Boss ready and eager in his hand doesn’t already have him rock hard._

 _Zsasz can’t stand the wait anymore. He quickly unfastens The Boss, yanks open his trousers and wrenches his shirt from his pants. He sucks in a long anticipatory breath through his clenched teeth, making a soft hiss. He reaches beneath the waistband of Penguin’s silk boxers and moans the instant he wraps his impatient hand around The Boss: hot… stiff…_ **_ready._** _He relishes the warm soft tickle of the pubic hair at the heel of his hand._

_Victor hums and painstakingly grinds against the smaller man._

_“You feel good, Boss.”_

_He slowly drags his finger pads over Penguin’s tip before taking the first long, decadent tug. He groans as he lazily works Oswald, waiting for the man’s hips to reveal his natural rhythm so he can follow._

_— >o<— _

_Oswald can scarcely believe Victor’s hand is wrapped around him, attentively working him and how his body seems to be operating on its own volition. Whatever shyness and hesitance he previously felt is long gone. He shamelessly thrusts into the man’s hand and leans back into him, grinding himself onto the rigid length pressed against the small of his back._

_Victor’s hot breath at his neck makes him erupt in gooseflesh. He peers up, losing himself in Zsasz’s proficient hand and offered fantasy. Oswald imagines an incensed and jealous Edward rushing to stop Victor, demanding that he unhand him._

_He moans when Victor takes his ear between his teeth and slowly pulls. Penguin closes his eyes. Just past the rhythmic rustling of clothes and Zsasz’s hot breath, he hears the man’s panting and quiet moans. The kingpin begins losing control of his hips and falls prey to the rapidly building heat of his body. The harder and faster he thrusts, the louder Victor’s moans grow._

_Penguin’s strangled cry announces the inevitable hot, bursting ropes._

_He pumps himself empty._

_After finishing, Oswald blinks and shakes his head in shock. He gapes down in stunned silence at his spent cock in Victor’s hand._

_Zsasz purrs before releasing Penguin and casually walking to the bar. He grabs some cocktail napkins, nonchalantly wipes off his hand and tosses the spent paper squares into a wastebasket. As he does, Oswald tucks himself back into his trousers. Just as Victor reaches for his crystal tumbler, Penguin clears his throat._

_“V-Victor,_ **_wait_** _.”_

_Zsasz idly looks over his shoulder with an arched brow._

_“Hmm?”_

_Penguin takes a deep breath to shore his resolve. He shakes his head at the tumbler._

_“That can wait. Please come here for a moment.”_

_Victor idly shrugs and casually returns to Oswald. The kingpin returns his lieutenant’s gaze before trailing his eyes downward, noting the sizable bulge in the man’s pants._

_Penguin glances back at Edward and takes a determined breath before looking back at Victor. The subtle smile pulling at the man’s mouth emboldens him. Oswald squares his jaw, brazenly unfastens and unzips Victor’s trousers to slip his hand into his boxer briefs._

_Victor’s smile reaches the other side of his mouth, his reply guttural._

_“You_ **_really_ ** _wanna make him jealous.”_

 _Penguin’s jaw slackens at the feel of_ **_Victor Zsasz_ ** _in his hand. He quietly sighs the moment his fingers capture Victor’s girth. He frees the man from his pants and bashfully fondles his tip, plush but hard—oh so hard beneath… warm… velutinous. When the kingpin notices his unflappable enforcer twitch_ **_just_ ** _a hair, he responds with a self-satisfied smirk and more confident touch. He leans into Victor and his lip curls, peering directly into his eyes._

 _“Apparently, I_ **_do_** _.”_

 _Zsasz’s grin stretches even wider. He flashes his teeth and slightly opens his mouth, wantonly moaning in response to Penguin’s first delicious pull. Oswald’s first few strokes are soft and exploratory as he seeks out Victor’s subtle tells. Once he identifies them, he_ **_has_ ** _to see more. He intensely scrutinizes his enforcer as he handles him, watching the man grow more physically and audibly responsive._

_Zsasz’s brow softens as he lazily pumps himself into Oswald’s hand. Before long, his thrusts become more urgent. The moment Penguin hears Victor’s barely audible grunt, he diligently works to elicit the same response._

_Penguin’s known Zsasz for years but has never **seen** him like this—_ ** _definitely not like this_** _. Victor’s now something entirely different. His casual and nonchalant demeanor is now lustful. Driven._ **_Hungry_** _._

_Those dark piercing eyes are now pleasured and hazy. His square jaw now slack._

_The moment Oswald feels Victor’s tempo increase, he watches the man clench his teeth. Zsasz’s upper lip curls into a snarl and his eyelids droop, all the while peering deeply into Penguin’s eyes. Eventually, his thrusts stutter and his breath hitches. He shudders and gushes into Penguin’s hand. Oswald looks on, transfixed by this intimate glimpse of his hitman._

_Afterwards, Victor tilts his head and stretches a wide, open-mouthed grin_ _. Oswald first blushes with mild self-consciousness, until it occurs to him that_ **_he_ ** _just made_ **_Victor Zsasz_ ** _lose control and come all over himself. His blushing cheeks and fluttering lashes are soon replaced by a smug, self-congratulatory smirk and unabashed eye contact._

 _Victor doesn’t bother putting himself back together before returning to the bar for more cocktail napkins. He offers them to Oswald, who wipes his hand mimicking the same casual air of his enforcer. As Penguin removes the sticky residue from his hand, he’s struck by the fact the previous version of himself would have_ **_never dreamed_ ** _of doing such a thing._

 _Penguin isn’t sure if his actions are spurred by the possibility of making Edward jealous or because he could, but_ **_really_ ** _now:_

Who better than Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot, the reigning sovereign of Gotham’s underworld, to do as he pleases and take what he wants?

_Oswald gazes back up at Edward, frozen with his open mouth and outstretched arms. Penguin puffs out an amused snort and smirks._

Ed really **does** look like he’s trying to stop us.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uh… My partner-wifey Linda (the Ravenclaw to my Slytherin and/or National City to my Gotham) and I’ve been together for sixteen years now. I can personally attest to the fact people and relationships “change” with time. What one considers sexy in their twenties and thirties might change a little in one’s fifties. *looks side to side telling on herself*
> 
> I’m still a little nervous about Riddler ‘cause (as I previously confessed), I couldn’t possibly be further from his character. I’m far more on the Victor Zsasz side of the spectrum. *winks*
> 
> (Again: holler at me if y’all catch errors.)
> 
> Thank you kindly for the read. Y’all are the best.


	4. La Petite Mort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now: Commissioner Gordon visits the GCPD and receives an unexpected reminder of the past. Oswald is still haunted by old demons as he prepares for the weekend's celebration. Edward continues with his own plans.
> 
> ______
> 
> _Then: Oswald and Victor continue with their professional and personal relationship._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"I go to bed with a prayer_   
>  _That you'll make love to me_   
>  _Strange as it seems..."_   
>  _—lyrics to "Lover Man"_

—>j<—

Gordon glances down at the saluting uni’s badge.

“At ease, Calderone.”

The young woman relaxes and extends her hand.

“It’s an _honor_ to meet you, Sir.”

Jim presses his lips together, briefly looking to the floor. Despite the years, he’s still not completely comfortable with the formality his storied career and bigger badge affords him. He stiffly smiles and curtly nods as he shakes her hand.

“The honor’s mine.”

Jim’s eyes drift to the jar filled with candy bars at her desk. He squints and takes another look back at her.

“Say. You’re not related to Joe Cal—.”

She smiles and nods.

“My dad.”

Jim puffs out a laugh and shakes his head in disbelief.

“ _Little_ Josie?”

“One in the same.”

“I see you got his sweet tooth. Ya know, whenever Bullock and I had to track him down, the vending machines were the first place we looked.”

“How is—.”

Jim blinks and stops himself. This question’s always a gamble in this profession and town—especially after the bridges blew.

“He… wishes he was still a cop, but after Zero…”

Jim grows solemn when the unie takes a breath.

“Mom didn’t make it. He moved out to National City after reunification to live with my brother and his family.”

Jim briefly looks to the floor.

“I’m sorry about your mother. She was a great lady… _and her biscotti…_ ”

He sighs and shakes his head, smiling.

“I don’t even wanna _think_ about how many Harv and I ate. We used to race to get some when your dad walked in with ‘em.”

She guffaws until her laughter tapers off. She takes a breath.

“Commissioner Gordon, Sir. I have to ask…”

He braces himself for the inevitable questions about that hellish year when the woman leans in close.

“Ya know… I distinctly remember helping mom make some panna cotta for you and Detective Bullock. She made dad _swear_ not to touch _any_ of it. Did you two...?”

He chuckles and shakes his head.

“To this day, Harv _refuses_ to try anyone else’s because it’ll _‘never measure up to Carlotta’s’_. Hey. Give your old man my best—and keep up the great work.”

“I just wanna make him proud.”

Jim offers a modest but sincere smile.

“Josie. He had your pictures everywhere and now that I have my _own_ daughter? Believe me when I say this: he’s _very_ proud of you.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

Gordon acknowledges the rising men and women as he walks through the bullpen and climbs the stairs to his old office. He knocks on Harper’s closed door, surprised to find her blinds shut.

“Come in.”

Jim walks in. Alvarez and Harper close their folders with photos in them, stopping the moment they see him. He shakes his head and raises his hand to stop them the moment they begin rising. Gordon reaches to pat Alvarez’s shoulder and offers a hearty handshake.

“Carlos. It’s good to see you.”

“Sir.”

“Harper.”

She smiles as she shakes his hand.

“We’re just grateful to _finally_ have one of our own at the helm, Sir.”

Jim clears his throat with mild embarrassment.

“Thank you, Captain.”

He turns his attention to matters of business.

“This will only take a minute. I don’t have to tell you two how big this weekend is. Mayor Acosta wanted me to call you in, but you have enough on your plate. I’m confident you have things well in hand.”

Jim can’t help but look at the closed folders. He nods towards them.

“Anything I should know about?”

Harper and Alvarez exchange a look.

—

Jim stares down at several photos of various women now neatly laid out on Harper’s desk. Given their varying hair colors and styles, they appear to have nothing in common beside their approximate height, build and age. It isn’t until Carlos begins displaying their morgue photos that Jim feels his dread rise.

 _Long black hair._  
_Pale skin._  
_Light brown eyes._  
_Full lips._  

 _Not_ **_another_ ** _serial killer._

He studies each photo. Each woman was killed exactly the same way: their throats were slit from right ear to left and they were stabbed multiple times post mortem to the right of their abdomen.

Alvarez then begins laying out the crime scene photos. Each woman's body was found exactly the same way: seated upright with her hair down and hands resting on the arms of her chair. Only then does he notice the details of their various outfits. 

 _White jumpsuit._  
_Bright red coat._  
_Dark brown silk dress._  
_Pinstriped suit with red leather gloves._  
_Black, off-the-shoulder dress red leather gloves._  
_Off white suit with a long soft pink coat and scarf._  

Jim’s lips begin parting.

—

_Jim and Harvey barely manage to make it out of the citadel with Zsasz, narrowly saving the notorious man from certain death. Oswald’s men are hot on their trail. He jumps into the driver seat as Harvey shoves the cuffed man in back. Victor immediately rights himself and briefly turns to look out the back window._

_After Harvey slams the back door shut, Jim looks through the rearview mirror, dividing his attention between Victor and looking out for Penguin’s men. Despite the duct tape firmly affixed to the hitman’s mouth, he’s clearly having a great time. Jim growls with annoyance at Zsasz’s twinkling eyes and muffled laughter._

_“You’re lucky Oswald enjoys ceremony. Otherwise, he would’ve already put you down.”_

_Jim shakes his head._

_“I_ **_still_ ** _can’t believe you sided with Sofia after she had Carmine killed. I know you don’t hold much sacred, Zsasz, but the_ **_one_ ** _redeeming quality I_ **_thought_ ** _you had was loyalty.”_

_Harvey swings open the car door and jumps inside, shouting as he slams it shut._

_“Let’s get the hell outta here, Jimbo!”_

_Jim checks the rearview mirror after they peel off, racing away from the gunfire. Once they make it safely out of range, he glances back into the mirror. Zsasz is now_ **_anything but_ ** _jovial. His cockiness and impudence are visibly absent. His proud chest and brazen eye contact have been replaced with slumping shoulders and a look of confusion. Victor vacantly blinks his downcast eyes._

 _Jim takes a quick glance forward before peering back in the mirror. He watches Victor’s eyes gradually widen and look up, searching his. Gordon instantly recalls Zsasz’s expression when the GCPD dragged Oswald out of the Iceberg Lounge, arresting him as a suspect in_ _a young boy’s_ _death._

“Victor Zsasz is a liar! NO! I will kill you! Traitor!”

“This doesn’t give you a free pass, you know.”

_He still remembers Victor’s clenched teeth and low, stiff tone._

“Jim. Not now.”

_Jim’s lips part after locking eyes with Zsasz._

He didn’t know.

—

“Commissioner? Ya got something? Do you recognize anything? Is this someone we know?”

Jim absently blinks and shakes his head.

“I… I’m not sure.”

Alvarez shakes his head.

“Even if we wanted to warn the public, what would we say? These women look nothing alike and have nothing in common—at least not until he kills them. And the dates of the murders? They all seem to occur during this time of year, early spring—late March to early April. If he sticks to his M.O., he won’t kill again for another year.”

Jim rubs his forehead.

“For now, the M.O. and serial component of these murders stays between us.”

He rises and walks to the door, turning back before opening it.

“In the meantime, Harper, keep me apprised of the investigation. If we’re lucky, he made a mistake.”

 

_— >o<— _

_Over the years, Oswald spent endless hours with Victor. Prior to their first sexual encounter, Penguin thought little of their time alone. Sure, there were times he appraised Victor’s fit body and noticed his unusual sex appeal: his breezy nonchalance and confident, even_ **_cocky_ ** _air._

_Despite Zsasz’s attractive qualities, Penguin merely dismissed him out of hand. Sure, he was masterful with a gun and a blade, but the man simply hadn’t the intellectual acuity Oswald desired. There was also the fact Victor only appeared to show sexual interest in women._

_However, after their first sexual encounter, all that changed. Oswald actively and regularly sought out time alone with Victor. He relished their clandestine meetings, intimate touches and heavy petting. Penguin grew to take pride in the fact Victor was growing less casual and nonchalant. He delighted in Victor’s brazen eye contact, suggestive smiles and indulgent fondling… his hot, eager mouth… his aggressive lips and tongue… and_ **_those teeth_** _._

_He regularly catches himself staring at Victor, his mouth and body during meetings with Mr. Penn, taking every advantage of any alone time at the club, the mansion or in the limousine._

_—_

_Oswald was pleased that his program was flourishing, but that meant Victor spent a lot more time and energy on enforcement oversight, leaving him little to no opportunity for “fun”, as Victor liked to say. One slow mid-morning before lunch, Oswald walks Mr. Penn out of his office after their Pax Penguina briefing._

_The kingpin spent most of the meeting distracted and hoping Victor would soon return to the club, oftentimes thinking of how the man’s recently begun taking him into his mouth and touching him_ **_there_** _… that place inside that makes him lose all sensibility._

_As Arthur Penn exits the club, Penguin’s pleased to find Zsasz sitting at a booth by a table._

_Oswald smirks at Edward before approaching Victor who’s unholstering a Sig. Judging by the tabletop, Zsasz plans to clean it after returning from today’s rounds._

_Zsasz’s face splits into a wide smile, leaning back in the booth to stretch. He spreads his legs and slowly rubs his thighs, licking his lips._

_To his surprise, The Boss (normally concerned with propriety and decorum) proceeds to straddle his lap in the club in broad daylight, knowing full well his men are just outside the club doors._

_He retracts his facial muscle and juts out his jaw, reaching for Penguin’s shoulders. He fingers the rich silk wool blend of his suit and drags his hands down the lapels. Victor curls his fingers around them and draws Oswald close to his face, deeply gazing into the pale green eyes before trailing his eyes to the man’s beckoning lips and forcing his mouth on them._

_Oswald moans into Victor’s open mouth and deeply probes it with his tongue, quickly wrapping himself around the man. Victor flicks open Penguin’s jacket and impatiently runs his hands up the man's thighs, reaching for his haunches._

_Zsasz’s demanding fingers dig into Penguin’s ass, drawing him close and meeting his eager hips. He tugs at Oswald’s exquisitely crafted tie to loosen and toss it aside. He claws off The Boss’ jacket and impatiently unbuttons his waistcoat. He unclips the man’s suspenders before unfastening and unzipping his suit trousers._

_Oswald adroitly unbuttons Victor’s top two buttons and tosses aside his neck kerchief. He bites at the man’s neck as he unbuttons his vest. Penguin pulls back and gazes into Victor’s eyes as he unfastens and unzips his trousers, greedily reaching inside. He watches Victor’s eyes flash the moment he takes the man in hand. Penguin’s smirks as the man groans and thrusts into it._

_The assassin loses himself in little time. Penguin’s now intimately familiar and confident with the knowledge of what he likes—a far cry from the bashful, blushing man who first touched him not all that long ago. He grabs Oswald's wrist and pulls it off, shaking his head and teasing in a sing-song voice._

_“Ah-ah.”_

_Victor takes his other hand and rubs Penguin through his trousers before unfastening and unzipping him. Zsasz takes Oswald’s forearm and draws the man close to his face, growling in his ear._

_“Don’t chya want your boyfriend to see?”_

_Penguin eagerly moans and nods. Victor immediately releases him, quickly slips both hands beneath Oswald’s haunches and hoists him as rises, confidently walking him to a nearby table. Victor sets him atop it and squats to remove his handcrafted Italian leather shoes before brusquely tugging off his trousers and boxers._

_Victor unbuttons Oswald’s shirt and yanks it open. He looms over the man and takes both them both in hand, ardently working them. Before long, Zsasz places his other hand on Oswald’s chest and nudges him back onto the table._

_Penguin cranes his head back to look back at Edward as Victor reaches into a pocket for lube. Victor lowers himself before Oswald to take him into his mouth. Penguin moans and pushes into the rich, sumptuous heat. He looks down and peers into the man’s watchful, penetrating eyes._

_“Victor. Oh god.”_

_Zsasz’s mouth curls at Penguin’s loss of control. He hums and sucks, deeply swallowing the man, occasionally tugging from side to side. When Penguin’s thrusts grow more frenzied, Victor unlatches himself and slowly rises. Oswald huffs in frustration. Victor rapaciously smiles down at Penguin, making a spectacle of lubricating his fingers._

_He arches a brow and nods back at the table behind him with Penguin’s top shelf and his guns._

_“What’s the matter, Boss? Want me to use my gun oil instead?”_

_Oswald’s breath hitches._

_Victor reaches between Oswald’s legs and slips in a digit. The kingpin gasps and his thighs quiver. Zsasz takes his other hand and slips it beneath Oswald’s knee, maneuvering his leg so he can probe in more deeply. He curls his finger until Penguin trembles and his hips push to meet his hand. He alternates between slipping in and out and returning to the same delicious spot and stirring to usher Penguin’s loud groans._

_Oswald clamps his hands on the sides of the table and goes rigid, losing the ability to think of anything but that decadent sensation deep inside. He returns to himself when Victor growls out._

_“You like that?”_  
_  
Oswald replies, panting._

_“Y-yes…”_

_Victor’s grin stretches wide._

_“You should. That’s the finger I use to kill_ **_all_** _. those. people for you.”_

_He snarls and deliberately stirs, emphasizing each word before adding another finger._

_“Ya gonna die a little death for me, Boss?”_

_Victor narrows his eyes before licking his lips and biting the lower one._

_“What do they call it again?”_

_Oswald replies through heavy breaths._

_“L-la petite mort.”_

_Victor growls._

_“Yeah._ **_That._ ** _So ya gonna?” Victor arches a brow. “Ya gonna_ **_die_ ** _for me, Boss? Just a_ **_little_** _?”_

_Oswald emphatically shakes his head as bucks himself onto Victor’s fingers._

_“Y-y-yes…”_

_“Good. Now touch yourself. I wanna watch you.”_

_Victor glances up at Edward before stretching a sly grin at Oswald._

_“I think_ **_he_ ** _does too.”_

_Penguin groans and takes himself in hand, eagerly tossing himself as Victor fingers him. His strokes grow shorter and more urgent._

_“Victor, I…oh—”_

_Victor watches with smug satisfaction as Oswald shudders, quakes and bursts. His thrusts grow longer and deeper until they finally grind to a halt. After Penguin returns to his senses, Victor slips out his fingers and turns his attention to himself._

_Penguin moans at the sight of Zsasz staring down at him, unabashedly thrusting into his hand and taking great pride in the fact he’s being watched. The man purrs._

_“You want me to come on or **in** you?” _  
  
_To date, Victor still hasn’t been inside him, but Oswald can’t deny his interest is growing. Penguin’s breath hitches at the thought, but he’s still unsure. He bites his lower lip and sheepishly replies._

 _“On.”_  
_  
_ Victor glances at Edward before smiling back at the kingpin.

_“So he can see?”_

_“Yes.”_

_Victor shakes his head, his reply low and guttural._

_“Dirty,_ **_dirty_ ** _birdy.”_

_Victor’s flicks become rushed and urgent. Just as his eyelids begin drooping, Penguin reaches for him._

_“Victor. Come here.”_

_Zsasz comes back to himself. He looks to find Penguin resting on his elbows, motioning him with a nod around the table. After Victor approaches, Oswald replaces the man’s hand with his own, briefly considering his next move._

_He glances up at Edward and licks his lips before rolling to his side and guiding Victor close to his face. The hitman moans at the thought of Oswald Cobblepot’s mouth and the promise of that exquisite warmth. He was already close and now_ **_this_** _._

_Victor loudly groans and lurches into Oswald’s mouth—gritting his teeth and curling his lip at the sight of Penguin taking him. So hot… wet… slick… and the delicious, subtle scrape of teeth..._

_“Boss…”_

_Penguin grabs Victor’s trousers and draws him closer._

_Zsasz tries to steady himself but his pitching hips and insistent tone warn of the immediacy of his pending burst._

_“You said_ **_‘on’_** _...”_

_Penguin’s mouth grows more demanding._

_Victor tangles his fingers into the shoulder of Penguin’s shirt. Despite his best efforts to temper himself, his grunts and thrusts grow frenetic._

_Oswald peers up and watches his famously placid enforcer unravel._

_He couldn’t be more pleased when the man erupts with a roar._

—>o<—

After Edward’s abrupt departure, Penguin prepares himself for his busy day. He knew Ed might feel resentful with all the buzz surrounding the Iceberg Lounge's upcoming fête, but he was certain his partner would make an effort to carve out at least a day to assist him given the weekend's personal significance for them both—not to mention the _other_ matter that’s been gnawing at him.

During Zero, countless records and legal documents were lost or destroyed, leaving properties available for auction when people were unable to prove legal ties to the land. A staggering amount of real estate around town has been bought up. One of the most visible buyers, Bruce Wayne and Wayne Enterprises, acquired various properties around the city, attempting to restore historic buildings, create new businesses or renovate buildings for donation to several non-profits or to house his charitable foundations.

Oswald set out to purchase the Van Dahl estate and other properties. Because Elijah Van Dahl neither claimed to be Oswald’s legal father nor updated his will before his untimely death, Penguin had no legal rights to the land. A mystery buyer outbid him, purchasing the property right from under him. Despite the kingpin’s pull and resources, he could never acquire the land or identify the buyer.

As Penguin fastens his cufflinks, he looks to the mahogany box inlaid with ebony where Ed leaves his keys and other items. Beside it, lies a small paper. His face crinkles with disbelief as he picks up the familiar, well-worn temporary visitor's badge to Arkham all those years ago. Oswald turns it over and fingers the note as he reads it:

 _“I am held captive all day._  
_My brilliance locked away,_  
_This prison must be broken._

_The key?_

_My name which must be spoken.”_

He thinks back to the hell Jerome Valeska put him through during his second stint in Arkham after Victor turned on him. It isn’t long before his mind drifts to the torture he endured at the hand of Strange during his first stay.

_“Jim? Jim, Jim, my old friend! Jim. Help. Please.”_

_“Wait! Wait. Give us a minute.”_

_“Thank god you’re here. You have to help me. They’re torturing me.”_

_“Torture is what you do. The doctors here are trying to help you.”_

_“It’s torture, I’m telling you.”_

_“I don’t see any signs of it.”_

_“It’s mental torture.”_

_“It’s therapy. You’re insane. Remember?” That’s what your lawyers said anyhow.”_

_“You owe me, Jim Gordon. I lied for you! He killed Galavan! Not me! It was him! It was him!”_

Oswald shakes his head. Jim never came for him. No one did, but it was Ed who truly freed him after finding him in the woods close to death—just as _he_ returned the favor by freeing the _real_  him after luring _Lee’s_ “Ed” to Arkham with his letter.

He remembers how grateful and relieved he was to see the man, certain his liberation was imminent.

_“I knew you’d come. I knew you’d understand my letter!”_

_“How did you know I’d be…? What are you talking about?”_

_“I’m not talking to _you_ , Ed. I’m talking to _him_.”_

_“He read my letter!”_

_“You…  You’re wrong! I am Ed! Edward Nygma! That is it! Lee believes in me. She sees me for who I am.”_

_“Lee Thompkins may have made Ed strong, but I see the other you. The one whose name I wouldn’t speak, but, because he has earned it… and because I need him, I’m saying it now.”_

_“No. Please don’t. P-please…”_

_“I need you…”_

_“Please.”_

_“Riddler_.”

 

— ¿? —

Ed looks down at the catsuited Kyle, who's looking as disinterested as ever. She grumbles.

“You _really_ need me for this? You still owe me one. You and Oswald promised to get me outta this town ten years ago and never did."  
  
She shakes her head.

"And you were gonna build a submarine? Really?”

“Well, with all the shiny trinkets in this town, why would you ever want to leave _now_? Besides, admit it: there’s no better litter box than Gotham.”  
  
Selina rolls her eyes as he snickers with amusement. She glances back at the emerald-clad dandy when she hears approaching footsteps. A curly-locked man rounds the corner and tips his top hat.

  
"An audience with both Riddler and cat?  
What is one to think of that?  
And to what do I owe the pleasure?  
Is this business or is this leisure?”

Jervis reaches into his waistcoat for his pocket watch and blinks in befuddlement when it's missing. He shakes his head and looks up. Selina stretches a slow smile, dangling it in her hand.

“Lookin’ for this?”

She nods over towards Nygma.

“Just hear him out and you’ll get it back—but _only_ if you promise to cool it with the rhymes.”

—

Tetch struggles to tamp down the overwhelming compulsion to rhyme. He purses his lips as his eyes dart back and forth between Nygma and his watch twirling in Kyle’s fingers.

“This Saturday at Arkham, you say?”  
  
“Yes. All the other details are in place. I just need someone with your... _hypnotic_ influence.”

“Consider it done, Mr. Nygma.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The more I write this story, the more similarities and patterns I see. I’ll be honest, despite my love for this show, I don’t really tend to go back and watch entire episodes. I simply remember stuff from old scenes and research those moments. As this show reaches its conclusion, I gotta say… it really had some amazing moments. Some of the interpersonal dynamics are just so… delish.
> 
> Uh… Let’s see. What else? It just occurred to me I should probably reference when some of this stuff in these flashbacks happen. Zsasz’s trial took place in 5x04, Os and Jim happened in 2x13, Zsasz’s betrayal happened in 4x11, Riddler’s note to Os was in 4x13 and that f*cking emotional as h3ll “Riddler” scene happened in 4x14.
> 
> Be sure to holler at me and lemme know if I gotta fix any errors. It’s late Saturday/early Sunday and I’m a little old lady. Oh… and I got new bifocals Friday and uh… I can’t see all that great in ‘em yet. I keep finding all these dumb errors. Help me fix them! Respect your elders! Remember, I want FC's gift to be nice. _(I swear this is not my way of courting my fanfic wifey with gifts to ensure she still loves me and keep her interested in collabing with me... okay, maybe it is, a little. I mean, it's not as personal as a hand or an eye, but still...)_
> 
> Oh… and I’ve gotta couple of y’all wondering where the h3ll current Zsasz is. I promise you he’ll make an appearance in the next chapter. But uh… I still gotta write it so… uh… yeah… *preemptively ducks to avoid flying objects*
> 
> Thank you kindly for the read, kids. Y’all are the best.


	5. Lovetown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now: Oswald visits a place of personal significance. Jim needs a favor from his old partner. Zsasz struggles to move forward while Gotham prepares to remember its past.
> 
> ______
> 
> _Then: Penguin and Zsasz continue their personal relationship._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“Sometimes you're stormy water_   
>  _on which I pour my oil_   
>  _In each other's shadow_   
>  _The roots reach into the soil_   
>  _All these knots so tightly tied_   
>  _We could not uncoil_   
>  _In lovetown_   
>  _No place to settle down_   
>  _And do those teeth still match the wound?_   
>  _Take a good look around_   
>  _In lovetown...”_   
>    
>  _Whose lonely lips will find these hidden scars?_   
>  _Who's seen the kisses left in dim lit bars?_   
>  _Who's out in the streets, looking for love like ours?_   
>  _Who's looking in lovetown tonight?”_   
>  __  
>  __  
>    
>  [ —”Lovetown” (Peter Gabriel)](https://youtu.be/MrjuxgQVxiE)   
> 

—>o<—

Oswald limps out of the mansion with Klinefelter, who meticulously informs him of the day’s itinerary. His enforcer, Vincent, patiently awaits them at the open back door of the car. The kingpin holds up his hand, stopping his personal assistant.

“Thank you, Richard, but I’d like to take a quick detour first.”

The young man begins to remind him of his next scheduled appointment in an hour, but stops himself. He apologetically shakes his head in deference.

“Of course, Mr. Cobblepot.”

Oswald has Vincent drive up to the gates of the Van Dahl estate. There, “Private Property” and “No Trespassing” signs are prominently displayed. He absently rubs his index finger and thumb together as he longingly gazes at his late father’s home, now surrounded by scaffolding. Dozens of workers bustle inside and outside the mansion. The closed car windows muffle the sounds of earthmovers and ongoing construction. Penguin watches landscapers diligently tend the gardens.

He thinks back to the first time he walked into the place, stunned by the lavish furnishings and fine paintings in the home of the father he never knew he had. He recalls his profound gratitude to learn he was “not alone” and had a place to call “home”... only to helplessly watch his father die in his arms not long after, just like his mother did… even Fish.

It was in that very place where he first fell in love. To this day, he can still see Edward in the parlor wearing his robe as they sat by the fireplace.

_“I still don’t understand why you didn’t tell me what you were doing.”_

_“Your shock when seeing Butch had to be genuine. The people had to believe it… and they did. And once again, you’re the city’s hero.”_

_“But you were almost killed.”_

_“And you saved me… again. I hope you know, Oswald, I would do anything for you. You can always count on me.”_

He still sees the lavishly prepared dinner table where he sat alone, rehearsing what he planned to say to Ed.

_“A man comes to a crossroads in his life and he has to make a choice. Does he choose safety and cowardice or does he opt for courage and risk everything? I choose courage. What I’m trying to say is… The thing I’ve been wanting to tell you all day long is… I love you.”_

He wonders if his life would have been any different if he’d only mustered the courage to confess his feelings sooner instead of killing “her”. That mistake cost him handsomely: not just his love, but his life.

That same house is where he later returned after Ivy found and nursed him back to health. She was instrumental in helping him acquire Freeze and Bridgit as he prepared to reclaim his power. When he was finally ready, he sought out the must-have accoutrement of Gotham’s most powerful: Victor Zsasz. The man was fearless, lethal and always ready to bring pain or death. His deep set eyes were dark as night and his predacious grin impelled the most spirited to heel.

_—_

_Penguin didn’t know what to expect the first time he invited Victor into his bedroom, but it certainly wasn’t this. Every other time and place was so hot and hurried. Not this time. Victor stares at him while he slowly removes his gloves and shoulder holster—as if he knows_ **_this_ ** _time will be different from all the others._

_Oswald can barely stand the amount of time Zsasz takes with him. He grows restless watching Victor gradually tug his tie from his collar—desperate for the man to yank open his clothes and take what he wants as he customarily does, but he doesn’t. Victor takes him to bed fully clothed. He languidly strokes all over Oswald’s body before reaching his inner thighs, coaxing them apart before settling between them._

_Despite Zsasz’s evident desire straining against the fabric of his trousers, he takes his time. He stretches out every kiss, lick and bite—using his physical prowess to his advantage when Penguin tries to hurry things along, all the while teasing him._

_“Relax, Boss. What’s your hurry?”_

_The hitman pins the kingpin and stretches things even longer. Oswald whimpers and hungrily thrusts in response to Victor’s deep kisses and soft bites as he deeply grinds against him._

_Victor painstakingly unfastens a single button or two, stroking, licking or biting every new patch of skin he unveils. Oswald quivers and gyrates in response to Zsasz’s warm, wet mouth… his tongue and those teeth on his neck and collarbone… his chest and nipples… the inside of his wrists. He watches in disbelief and trembles as Victor piously traces each and every one of his scars with a finger._

_After waiting for as long as he can stand, Oswald rips off his unbuttoned waistcoat and shirt as Victor watches on and smirks. Zsasz’s grin stretches even wider when kingpin turns to him and treats his clothes in the same fashion. Penguin huffs with frustration and unceremoniously removes his vest, neck kerchief and shirt, growling as he tosses them to floor._

_Oswald throws himself at Victor, groaning when their bare skin finally meets, shuddering at the sensation of the man’s warm chest, his intoxicating scent and the taste of his skin. Penguin thrusts to meet Victor’s hips, dragging his hands all over the man’s muscular chest, arms, back and ass. His lips part when he stumbles upon the cicatrix marking Victor’s gunshot wound._

_Zsasz frowns down at the scar and telltale signs of Penguin’s handiwork. He arches a brow and purrs._

_“Do you like that you left your mark on me?”_

_Oswald whimpers and responds with an eager nod._

_“Yes.”_

_Oswald forces their lips together, deeply probing Victor’s mouth. He impatiently rips off their remaining clothing and quietly gasps after unveiling the infamous man. Enraptured, he fingers the keloidal tallies on Victor’s powerful body. Eventually, Zsasz takes his wrist and assumes control, rolling him onto his stomach._

_Oswald surrenders to the skilled hands and attentive mouth that praises every inch of his arms, shoulders, back and lower… around his haunches and ass, down his legs and behind his knees. He writhes and groans with Zsasz’s indulgent treatment, moaning and quivering every time he feels the Victor’s aching length against his body and the faint path it leaves behind. He breathlessly begs as the man decadently fingers him._

_“Victor, please.”_

_Zsasz nuzzles his face between his legs and flicks at his taint, teasing him._

_“Victor please what?”_

_Oswald’s voice is ragged._

_“I want you inside me.”_

_“No.”_

_The moment Oswald feels Victor dismount him, he shakes his head and blinks in shock—only to feel the man’s hot breath in his ear and hand on his shoulder._

_“Not like this.”_

_Just as Penguin turns to look back to look, Victor deliberately guides him onto his back and nestles between his legs. Zsasz reaches beneath his ass to hoist and draw him fast to his hips. Oswald looks up at Victor’s heaving chest and gazes into his lidded eyes. The hitman’s jaw slackens as he maneuvers himself into place, softly groaning—his voice hoarse and guttural._

_“Like **this**.” _

_Oswald moans with anticipation. The instant Victor slips inside, he gasps with the realization._

No one has **ever** looked at me the way he is now.

_—_

“Boss?”

Vincent’s voice from the front seat of the car snaps him from his reverie.

“Ready to go now or do you need more time?”

Oswald finally comes back to himself. He glances into the rearview mirror before turning to Richard, whose face is writ with concern.

“Mr. Cobblepot, is everything alright?”

Penguin shakes his head and takes another glance at his father’s home before nodding.

“Yes, Richard. My apologies. Vincent. Let’s be on our way. We have a busy day ahead of us.”

 

— 卌 —

Victor prowls around The Foxglove, savoring the sweet sting of the fresh scar on his hip. He can feel the blood growing tacky as he watches performers and patrons alike, dressed in everything from latest couture to leather to latex to nothing at all. It still amazes him how much the place _hasn’t_ changed. Why the fuck he keeps coming here…

_Oh right. You visit and no one says shit. You get what you want. No questions asked._

Solange has finally taken the place over. She lets him have whatever he wants after the endless favors he’s done for her over the years: “chatting with” and “taking care” of patrons who think they can abuse staff or don’t have pay or _other_ matters more _personal_ in nature.

The styles differ over the years, but some things never change: latex and leather… piercings… chaps… whips… quirts… gags… clamps… tattoos… plugs… collars… corsets… stilettos… lace boots… rigging… hoods…

They’re… _classic_.

Victor idly checks out the performers to see if they’ve managed to pick up anything new, but they haven’t. Not really. Everywhere he looks, he only finds reinterpreted versions of the classics.

The only thing that _does_ change are the faces because people always want new meat, like the young, fresh-faced thing he locked eyes with outside before he walked into the club: a tall, young, willowy thing with soft, dark curls and big brown eyes—but no invite.

_He’ll be on the arm of some rich, entitled asshole in no time. ‘Chicken Night’ is the freshest thing I’ve seen around this cesspool in awhile._

Everyone at the club knows Zsasz has a staggering amount of confirmed kills, even by Gotham standards. It scares off most, but not everyone. There are always plenty of thrill-seeking idiots who are either hopeless or curious or cocky enough to take a walk on the wild side with him—despite the very real possibility they may never be seen or heard from again.

In fact, there are some who are _so_ hopeless, they just want to permanently check outta the shit show. Victor prefers to hunt, but that doesn’t mean he won’t oblige someone if the mood strikes him and sometimes, _every_ once in awhile, there’s a _very specific_ type that comes along he can _never_ turn down.

The ones that look like **her** :

Pale skin with long, black hair, light brown eyes and full lips.

They’re the ones Zsasz can _never_ resist. The ones he can’t possibly refuse.

They don’t always have to look _exactly_ like Sofia. They just need to look _just_ enough like her or share a quality of hers: her spirit or personal style, the way she moves, her “daddy” issues…. If they resemble her just enough, he can do the rest. Looks are easy to influence or alter once he finds _just_ the right one. When he does, he grooms her _just_ so and asks her to sit proudly in her chair, wearing her very finest—like the woman a couple of nights ago:

_Maura._

Victor can still see her dainty fingers in his gloved hand. He sank to a knee and pressed a chaste kiss on the back of her hand before walking behind her and setting her free. He can still feel his large trailing point—the same one he held to Selina Kyle’s neck the last day he saw Don Falcone alive: the very same day Sofia had him assassinated.

When Zsasz closes his eyes, he can still hear Maura’s soft gasp before the cut. He still sees and smells her warm, arterial spray. He sighs, recalling her soft shudder before growing rigid, then lax. He patiently watched the telltale signs of life ebb away. Afterwards, he walked back around to stand before her, repeating what he told Sofia in Penguin’s office.

_“I’ll stab you.”_

Only then was ~~Sofia~~ _Maura_ at her most beautiful.

Inert. Lifeless. _Departed_.

By _his_ hand.

—

After roaming the main floor of the club, Victor’s in a private room stretched out like a big cat on an expansive leather chair, idly watching the man and the woman taking turns sucking him.

That’s not entirely accurate. The woman’s far more enthralled with the scars riddling his chiseled, alabastrine body (now bigger, harder and more taut than ever before). She’s especially distracted by his freshest tally (about an hour old) just inside his hip bone. It’s lightly bleeding and somewhat smeared by the beautiful man’s face.

Zsasz looks her square in the eye and dispassionately remarks.

“One hundred ninety-eight.”

The woman freezes.

The guy, on the other hand, doesn’t stop. If anything, his attention grows more urgent. Just as Victor begins to lull into the warm, demanding pull, he recognizes the driving bass drums and growling bass line piping through the speakers. A sparse guitar precedes Marilyn Manson’s snarling opening:

 _“_[ _I put a spell on you_](https://youtu.be/VDEwl4r9-6k)  
[ _Because your mine_ ](https://youtu.be/VDEwl4r9-6k)  
_I can’t stand the things that you do_  
_No, no, no, I ain’t lyin’… no…_  
_I don’t care if you don’t want me_  
_‘Cause I’m yours, yours, yours anyhow…”_

 

_**Penguin**._

—

Gotham’s been abuzz with the Iceberg Lounge’s upcoming celebration. It’s been a decade since Year Zero, when neither the fate of the city nor her inhabitants was certain. Unlike most, he and The Girls were better prepared to weather the storm. Many died from hunger or thirst, in battle on the warring streets as hapless collateral damage (thanks to Joker and Bane) or (if they were lucky) suddenly and without warning like the inhabitants of Haven.

Victor still isn’t sure how he feels about Ten Post Zero. The publicity’s all over Gotham and has been for months: an Art Deco design with a black numeral 0 and 10 flanking the central shaft of a purple umbrella. Beneath it, is Penguin’s trademark top hat and monocle. If it isn’t the flyers, it's the billboards… the news… the Gazette… or the street chatter.

It’s all anyone talks about these days. Anyone who’s anyone is expected to pay their respects to Gotham’s underworld king.

_Better to reign in hell…_

Thing is, Victor’s not really “anyone” anymore. He still has plenty of notoriety, having been one of Gotham’s most notorious—if not _the_ most notorious underworld enforcer for years having served Don Falcone before Penguin and…

_Her._

After learning the ugly truth about Sofia, Victor left all that behind. He became his own boss, limiting his gigs to contract killing, largely operating from the shadows with or without The Girls. No more flash or bravado. No more splashy performance art unless people are willing to pay handsomely for it. His only art is that which he leaves in “honor” of _her_.

_“Is this about Sofia Falcone? You should move on. It really isn’t healthy.”_

Victor’s cheeky taunt to Penguin became his undoing in short order. He’s never been able to shake Jim’s words from the front seat of the car when he was in custody.

 _“I_ **_still_ ** _can’t believe you sided with Sofia after she had Carmine killed. I know you don’t hold much sacred, Zsasz, but the_ **_one_ ** _redeeming quality I_ **_thought_ ** _you had was loyalty.”_

He _still_ can’t let go of how grossly he miscalculated, completely convinced Penguin ordered the hit on Don Falcone. Victor knew it was only a matter of time before Gotham fell to Sofia, but he still can’t believe how wrong he was about her.

It sickens him to think of how he followed her around like a fucking lapdog, lapping up her generous praise, so unlike Penguin, who offered it sparingly (if he even did at all). There towards the end, the kingpin mostly ranted and raged when Falcone’s daughter had everyone over a barrel, up to and including Gotham’s Golden Boy.

_If he’d only given the order after we got Martín back from her._

_“Sofia’s on her heels, Boss. Let’s finish her off. Have someone else take the kid.”_

_“No. I want my top man on this.”_

_—_

The gagging sound brings Victor back to his senses. He looks down and realizes his fingers are tangled in the raven black hair of the man choking on his dick. He pulls the man’s head up and off him—the long string of saliva now their only connection.

He sneers.

“Get the fuck outta here.”

When pale-eyed man with lily-white skin rises to leave, Zsasz shakes his head and strokes the smear of blood on the lovely man’s cheek, gazing deeply into his watering eyes.

“No. _You stay_.”

Victor turns to the woman and blinks.

“ _You_ leave. _Now_.”

 

—>j<—

Harvey’s still cleaning up the bar after the lunch crowd when he hears the front door jingle. He looks up, surprised to see Gordon walking in at such an early hour. He catcalls his old partner.

“And to what do I owe the pleasure of a private audience with Gotham’s revered _Commissioner?_  Oh right. Now that someone’s no longer part of the rank and file, he can do as he pleases. Must be nice!”

Harvey shakes his head.

“Hey, did that waste of human flesh—wait. That sorry sack of shi _—_.”

Jim’s eyes instantly widen. He nervously shakes his head, making a quick back and forth motion beneath his chin. Harvey finally stops at the telltale squeal of his favorite strawberry blonde, tearing past her father and into the bar.

“Uncle Harvey!”

“Barbie! C’mere and give your uncle some sugar!”

The girl slams into Bullock’s waiting arms. He groans, gives her a big bear hug and kisses the top of her head before stepping back to look down at her.

“Say, why aren’t you in schoo—.”

He takes her chin into his hand, pointing to her shiner.

“What’s _this_?”

The girl shrugs, briefly looking to the side.

“I got sent home for fighting today. Dad had to come get me.”

Harvey firmly holds her chin and his voice grows stern.

“Barbie. What did I tell you about fightin’?”

“That whoever I fight better look worse than me or you’re gonna…”

Jim gruffs.

“Barbara, that’s _enough_.”

Harvey grins down at her.

“Well? Do they?”

She giggles.

“Yeah. You should _see_ the other guy!”

She raises her hand over her head to signify the boy’s height.

“He’s _this_ big and I _still_ gave him two black eyes.”

Bullock cackles as he messes up her hair.

“‘Atta girl!”

She scrunches up her nose and grins like a Cheshire Cat.

“Serves him _right_ too. He’s a _bully_ and a _real jackass—_.”

Jim scolds her again.

“Barbara!”

She quickly adds another tidbit, failing miserably to suppress her chortle.

“He _cried_ too—and even _peed himself_ a little.”

Harvey bellows.

“A chip off the old block! Hey! Did I ever tell you about the time your old man brought in Victor Zsasz? He _clocked_ that sorry son of a…”

“Harvey. _Don’t_ encourage her.”

Gordon turns to his daughter and gives her “the look”, his voice firm.

“Barbara. Instead of _bragging_ about your fight, why don’t you show Uncle Harvey what you brought him?”

She huffs.

“Okaaaay.”

“ _Barbara_.”

She grumbles.

“Yes, _sir_.”

She digs into her backpack, excitedly pulls out a drawing and shoves it at Harvey’s chest.

“Check it out. It’s you and me playing pool.”

Bullock’s face splits into a wide smile and he shakes his head.

“Wow, sweetheart. This is _really_ good. You even got _both_ my chins. _I love it!_ ”

He gives her a firm side hug and presses a long kiss on top of her head, nodding her towards the kitchen.

“Why don’t you go ask Marsha if we have any more frames back there so I can put this up at the bar? Hey, uh…”

He looks to Jim, who’s nodding and mouthing _“thank you”_.

“I think she could use your help back there cleaning up after lunch, too. Say, why don’tcha help her with _that_ first and then we’ll see about puttin’ up your picture? Maybe over here by the one of us playin’ darts. What‘cha think? Eh?”

She emphatically grins and nods.

“Yeah.”

Barbara jumps up to peck his cheek and runs for the back with her picture, hollering for Marsha. Harvey slides Jim’s favorite spicy ale across the bar the moment the kid slams through the kitchen door.

Jim eases onto a barstool and takes a few long swallows of his Devil’s Backbone, gazing up at an old photograph of the previous owner, Bernardo, with his daughter Sasha. They’re alongside some oldtimers from the precinct. Many scattered to the wind; entirely too many never made it at all after the bridges blew and everything went to hell. After Harvey retired, he took over the place—still keeping its original namesake.

Jim shakes his head and grumbles.

“Thanks, Harv. Lee’s on shift right now and I’m gettin’ killed at the office. To tell ya the truth, I kinda miss the way I _used to almost get killed_ compared to all this damn desk work… and the meetings! They _never_ end!”

He shakes his head.

“Remind me again. _Why_ did I ever agree to take this job?”

Bullock reaches for and lovingly pats Jim’s moustached mug.

“A _hello_ , _Dad_. A pension? Medical and dental?”

He nods towards the kitchen as he raises his coffee cup to his mouth.

“Besides, you’re fully vested and let’s face it, Jimbo. You couldn’t make it anyplace else. You don’t follow orders; no one else’ll have you and I can guaran- _damn_ -tee you _nobody_ wants your job.”

Harvey takes a sip of coffee and raises a finger.

“Mmph. There’s _another_ one. Job security.”

Jim puffs out a mirthless snort and takes another big swig.

“No shit—and damn it to _hell_ if Oswald’s Ten Post Zero isn’t this weekend. Can ya believe it’s been ten years?”

Harvey shakes his head and sets down his coffee. He leans over the bar and points a finger at his old partner.

“I swear to god and sonny Jesus I don’t envy you a bit, but I guess that’s why you get paid the _big_ bucks, _Commissioner_ Gordon.” He shrugs. “Who knows? Maybe, if you’re lucky, Bruce Wayne’ll buy the club out from under that sorry weasel and turn it into…” He shrugs. “I dunno… whatever the _fuck_ he wants!”

Jim shakes his head.

“Well, until _that_ happens, we still need to keep an eye on it.”

“Every scumbag in the city’s gonna be there.”

Jim nods, his voice peevish.

“I know. Hopefully, they’ll _only_ be in the mood to celebrate.”

He arches a brow and gives Bullock a reluctant look.

“Ya know, Harv, Oswald _did_ help us out when the chips were down.”

Harvey shakes his head and growls.

“Wait! Hold up! Are you actually gonna go pay that slimeball your respects?”

Jim shrugs and takes a swig as Harvey wisecracks.

“Hell, maybe I should go and pay my respects too—by punching that stupid putz again! God that felt great! Maybe Zsasz’ll make an appearance too… and I can punch _his_ psychopathic ass again! When’s the last time anyone’s actually _seen_ him anyway?”

Jim’s brow crinkles, thinking back to the photos on Harper’s desk. He raises his ale to his lips and that’s when he hears a snare drum’s rapid-fire rat-a-tat triplets. A bluesy guitar descends into lazy chords thick with reverb—followed by a ghostly, shuffling rhythm guitar. John Fogerty’s voice licks at him like flames in an open pit.

 _“[ _I put a spell on you_](https://youtu.be/_XI6kiDp1dg)_  
[_Because your mine..._](https://youtu.be/_XI6kiDp1dg)  
_You’d better stop the things you do_  
_I said watch out_  
_I ain’t lyin’...”_

Jim can still feel Oswald beneath his fingers… can still see the splash of freckles on his face, cheeks high with a blush… his pouty, swollen lips… his heaving chest and accelerated breathing… but not like all the other times he roughed up the kingpin or threatened him…

 _It was different_ **_that_ ** _time. Very._ **_Very_ ** _different._

It’s not like he didn’t want Oswald. It just took him awhile to figure it out and actually admit it to himself. Oswald always haunted him… hounded his thoughts… his dreams…

It didn’t start out that way though. At first, Oswald was just a nuisance—until Jim discovered how useful he was. It always started out with just a favor. Sometimes, Jim just needed some information. Penguin always had that.

It was _nothing_ like Harvey and Fish.

It was _different_.

 _He_ was different.

_He’d never…._

_—_

_Oswald was willing to do anything for you back then. You knew it and you used it. Shamelessly. What was the harm? Really? Oswald was just… a wannabe with some ambition—in the beginning anyway._

_Oswald was so different when you first met him. Softer. He wanted to please. It was almost as if he wanted you to recognize him. Like him. Love(?) him. Thing is, most of that’s gone now. This place killed it—like it does everyone and everything else._

_God, how you underestimated him. He didn’t look like much—especially when he begged you to spare him as you walked him to that pier and Harvey watched on. Little did you know you’d be forever indebted and bound to him. You’d never be able to free yourself from him or what he had to offer._

_You owed him too much. He was too valuable. He traded in the secrets you needed but could never get yourself. Little did you know he’d wind up being your biggest and dirtiest secret of all. Little did you know that you’d be forever drawn to him and always turn to him: the one you could always count on when the chips were down—he was as much your partner as Harvey was. Maybe more._

_Sure, it’d been years since the time you fucked him (_ ** _that_ ** _way)... but it was always there. Just beyond the surface. Every interaction. Even now. The way Oswald understands you more than any of your lovers ever have… Barbara… Valerie… even the love of your life: your wife, Lee._

_It’s Oswald who knows every fucking bit of you—inside and out. He knows your heart and soul and savors it. He could eat it if he wanted, but he hasn’t. Not yet. Because he knows. He knows he needs you as much as you need him to keep this town together. To keep you together. He’s you fully realized. He shares your desire to keep the city in check. In order. To do what is necessary._

_God, in Penguin’s prime, he was proud,_ **_elegant_ ** _even—despite being visibly broken. He was deceptively small and weak looking, but flexible and able to withstand the harshest of climes, the most savage beatings and hostile environment. In a place that claimed countless others, Oswald not only survived, but flourished._

_And god… the way he looked right through you and picked you apart and knew exactly what you wanted before you even did. How he looked up at you with those pale eyes, lips parting as he reached out to touch you..._

—

“Dude! _What the hell?_ Earth to Jimbo!”

Jim shakes his head, vacantly blinking at Harvey.

“Sorry. Harv. He still helped us out when we needed him the most _—and Nygma_ , like it or not.”

“To hell with that weasel! With _both_ of ‘em! Besides, _Commissioner_ Gordon, doesn’t your privileged position come with plenty of grab-asses to do all that political shit for you? I swear ‘ta god, Jimbo, no matter how high you climb, you’ll _always_ be a cop.”

“Harvey. I gotta _family_ now. Lee. Barbara. Thanks, in part, to Oswald… to Ed— _to both of them._ ”

“Hey, I’ve got an idea! Why don’t chya go thank Strange too? Look. Alright. Ya gotta point—but the way I see it? Lee and Barbara are all the more reason for you to stay as far away from that son of a bitch as possible.”

 

— 卌 —

After blowing off some steam at the Foxglove, Victor heads out for a bite at his favorite diner. He shuts off his Victory Octane and makes a quick call, still straddling his bike.

“Hey. It’s done.”

“¡Fíjate! I’ll tell las mellizas. Hey, you comin’ back anytime soon? Me, Egypt and Saffronia are thinkin’ about orderin’ out or grabbin‘ somethin’. You want in?”

As Xoc talks food, he casually glances and notices a tall, thin young man watching him from around the corner. His brow crinkles.

_Chicken Night._

“¡Oye, güerito! You still there?”

“Yeah. Hey, uh… go ahead without me. I think I’ma do my own thing.”

“Bueno, pues. Later, chingón.”

Victor dismounts his Octane and quickly heads away from the diner and down a nearby alley. He hustles behind a dumpster, waiting for Chicken Night. In little time, he hears the quiet jogging of someone stop just beyond the dumpster after they accidentally kick an empty bottle.

Zsasz jumps Chicken Night. He grabs him by the collar, shoves his combat knife up to his neck and forces him against a brick wall. He snarls into the young man’s face.

“Ya shoulda stayed at the club—or did ya want me to slice up this pretty face of yours?”

Chicken Night’s only response is a determined glare. Only then does Victor feel the telltale curved blade of a karambit flat against his inner thigh—strategically placed at his femoral artery. Zsasz knits his brow and looks down. The kid’s finger is in the retention ring of an all-too-familiar blade, his grip sure and fully prepared to fatally slash him.

Zsasz’s lips part. He shakes his head and blinks before returning the young man’s gaze, wide-eyed with disbelief.

_“Martín?”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I originally envisioned this story last year and began writing it, it was gonna be fairly simple and primarily focus on Zsaszlepot (with a side of Nygmobblepot). After I began fleshing it out, Filthycasual (the Jim to my Victor) seduced me with more GorZsasz. 
> 
> After she and I finished wrapped up our GorZsasz collab, I thought I was done with Jim Gordon. Well, apparently, I’m not as over Jim as I thought! I couldn’t help but write him into this story—‘cause, well, if this story’s gonna be about Penguin remembering the men in his life, there ain’t no way that story can be told without Jimbo making an appearance, am I right? That’s all I’m sayin’—especially after all that delicious sh!t with Penguin, Jim and Victor in Gotham 5x04. 
> 
> (Oh, and I’m not gonna lie, I had make my Victor suffer some after that blithe little “Is this about Sofia Falcone?” comment.)
> 
> For any of you who read my notes, you’ve heard my endless consternation and worry about my inability to write anything solo without my fanfic wifey, Filthycasual, to whom my modest work is dedicated. Some of my references in this chapter (like Harvey taking over Bernardo’s) are nods to her. She’s the one who dreamt up Bernardo’s in our inaugural GorZsasz fic, “Boxcutter”, where she manages to write some of the greatest Harvey Bullock and Gordlock moments ever. 
> 
> (Believe me when I tell you, I’m nervously biting my nails hoping I get in the ballpark of her Harvey. She writes him so well. Me? As much as I adore that man, I can’t do it. She even did a fantastic companion piece to “Boxcutter” called “The Problem With Captain Bullock” that’s Harvey’s POV of GorZsasz’s involvement. I’m serious. Go read that sh!t [here now](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15563508/chapters/36130707). My fanfic wifey writes some DAMB GOOD Harvey! :3 SO DELISH!)
> 
> Let’s see... what else? Oh, right. Penguin’s walk down memory lane with Ed? For any Nygmobblepotters out there, I don’t have to tell y’all those memories happened in Gotham 3x05 and 3x06–but maybe not everyone here’s a Nygmobblepotter *coughs* (FC). 😉 Oh yeah, there are also obvious nods to 5x04 & 5x09-5x10 in here. Did Harvey have fun punching out his most (un)fave /my most fave baddies in 5x09 or what?!
> 
> Thank, THANK, THANK YOU KINDLY for the reads and the comments. They give me the warm fuzzies, y’all. 
> 
> Love, peace and hair grease, y’all!
> 
> ❤️ }8>


	6. Slowdive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now: Zsasz faces a ghost from his past. Oswald learns some unsettling news and is haunted by his own demons. Edward enlists the help of others for assistance with his plan.
> 
> ______
> 
> _Then: Things get out of hand when Jim confronts Oswald about Pax Penguina. Victor intervenes._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“....And ya revel in the dips_   
>  _When yer backbone slips_   
>  _Takin' honeysuckle sips_   
>  _From yer rollin' hips_   
>  _It shifts and shifts_   
>  _It's a slow dive!”_   
>  [ _—“Slowdive” (Siouxsie and the Banshees)_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ERvHBd5vNTU)   
> 

— 卌 —

Victor walks into the diner with Martín in tow, feeling an unease with which he’s wholly unaccustomed. Bessie, the owner, is busy wiping down the counter. The older woman takes a look up when she hears the door open.

“Victor, honey! _Where_ you been? I been _missin’_ you!” She nods towards his favorite booth. “Take a load off and let Bessie fix you somethin’ to eat.”

The woman takes a second look at him and narrows her eyes at his stiff posture, only to see the young man with him.

“Oh! Hello, baby. I didn’t see you there. C’mon in and make yourself at home. Is this your first time—?”

She takes another look at the young man, who’s smirking back at her with twinkling eyes. Her eyes grow wide as saucers.

“ _Martín!_ Is that you?!”

The young man’s grin broadens and he nods with blush.

“Sakes alive! I ain’t seen you in a hundred Sundays! Come over here and let Momma Bessie take a look at you!”

She wipes her hands on her apron and rushes up from around the counter, her face beaming. She pulls the young man in for a full, warm hug. She pulls back and lovingly strokes his cheek.

“My baby! _Look at you all grown up!_ You back here for good or you just visiting?”

While she waits for the young man’s reply, she can’t help but notice as Victor grits his teeth and shifts uneasily. Zsasz glances at Martín, scratches the back of his head and looks to the floor while the young man pulls out a small tablet to answer.

**I don’t know yet. I’m visiting schools right now.**

Bessie smiles at him, but takes a worried glance at Victor.

“That’s _wonderful_ news, baby. I’m so proud of you! Sit yourself down and let Bessie make you somethin’ special. How ‘bout some shakes to start? You’re not too grown up for _that_ now, are you?”

Martín smiles and shakes his head. Bessie winks, purses her lips and pinches his cheek.

“Good. Now go on and sit.”

Victor rubs his mouth and swallows when Martín heads for the booth where they always sat together. After taking a seat on his favorite side, he briefly rubs the back of his neck and leans back in the booth. He shoves his fists into the pockets of his leather jacket and nods towards Martín’s pocket with his karambit.

“I can’t believe you still have that thing.”

Martín presses his lips together and scribbles his reply.

**You told me to keep it for you until you came back for me.**

Victor shifts in his seat and responds with a stiff nod. He’s surprised to feel his face grow hot and glances away. Martín looks to Victor’s shoulders and scribbles again.

**Where are your Sigs?**

Victor supinates the fists in his pockets to open his jacket. Martín studies them and curiously tilts his head. Before he can start writing again, Zsasz dismissively shrugs.

“I’m doin’ my own thing now.”

Martín narrows his eyes and thinks a little bit before asking his next question.

**Are you going Saturday?**

Victor crosses his arms and looks away for a bit, rubbing his forehead with a thumb.

“I uh… gotta gig.”

Bessie hollers from the counter.

“Martín, honey. C’mon over here and help Momma Bessie for a minute.”

Victor discreetly takes a big breath and quietly snorts out a long sigh once he’s alone again. He thinks back to the time he last talked to Macaluso—one of the few remaining Falcone loyalists and Sofia’s only surviving man from the safehouse where they kept Martín.

_“Where’s the kid?”_

_“I-I-I don’t know. I looked everywhere.”_

_“Look, Frank.” Zsasz leans to one side and points a finger back and forth between the two of them, nodding. “You and me? We go back, so… I’m gonna letcha tell me your side of the story.”_

_The man nervously holds up his hands and shakes his head, wide-eyed._

_“I-It’s like I said before. I went to grab us all a bite. On the way back, I heard the explosion. By the time I got here, the kid was gone and the guys were dead.”_

_Victor presses his lips together and tilts his head._

_“Ya see anything? Anyone?”_

_“I dunno… uh… maybe…” He snaps his fingers. “Yeah… I looked out the window and saw a guy jump into a car and speed off. Kinda tall and thin. Black hat.”_

_Zsasz narrows his eyes._

_“Wearin’ green?”_

_Macaluso nods._

_“Y-Yeah.Yeah, h-he did.”_

_Victor shifts his weight. He looks away and grits his teeth._

**Fucking Nygma.**

_The man nervously watches Victor._

_“Zsasz, look. I-I’m real sorry. Y-You’re not mad are you?”_

_Victor unholsters a Sig and shoots Macaluso in the head. After the man falls to the floor, Zsasz shoots him two more times in the face and reholsters his weapon._

_“A little bit yeah.”_

—

Martín arrives at the counter to help Bessie. She leans in close and nods towards Zsasz. Her face is knit with concern.

“Martín, honey. About Victor. He… had a hard time after you moved away and the bridges blew. He ain’t been the same since you left. He’s not….”

She watches the hitman in the booth, staring off with a faraway gaze, before looking back at the young man.

“He ain’t… _happy_ like he used to be. He’s… _harder_.”

Bessie heads for the milkshake glasses.

“Baby, after you left? It got bad. _Real_ bad. Things ain’t been the same since. Same goes for a lotta people ‘round here. I’m forever grateful to him and the girls for watchin’ over me and the diner during the worst of it. I never would have made it without them.”

She pours out their shakes.

“Sometimes we come back home and find out it ain’t home no more. And the people we used to know? They’re _different_. They _change_. _We_ change. Sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse.”

Bessie gives him a concerned look.

“Sometimes we come back and try to get answers to things that… just cain’t be answered.”

The woman reaches for his face and smiles.

“I’m _real_ proud of you, Martín. You’ve grown into a fine young man.”

She takes long, sad gaze at Zsasz before taking the young man’s into hers.

“And just ‘cause Victor ain’t been proud of himself in a long time, don’t mean he ain’t proud of you. You understand me, baby?”

Martín offers a modest smile and nods. She slides over the shakes and lovingly strokes his hand.

“Go on then.” She nods him over towards the hitman. “Victor don’t know it and he don’t think it, but he _needs_ you. Even if it’s just to visit with you right now for just this little bit. Baby, if you decide to come back here to stay, think real hard on it. Do it _because you want to be here_ —not because you feel like you _have to be here_ or prove yourself some kinda way.”

—

Victor’s lips part when he reads Martín’s scribbled question.

**Why didn’t you come back for me?**

Zsasz is surprised by the twist in his gut and the sting in his eyes. He blinks and swallows, looking to his empty plate. He can still see Penguin saying his goodbyes to the kid.

_“There, there. This is what I have to do to protect you. One day, when you are older, you will understand.”_

“I uh…”

He slowly rubs his fingers back and forth across his lips, deep in thought and looks back.

“You ever hear that saying, ‘Don’t shit where you eat?’”

Martín nods.

“I found out why they say it.”

Zsasz’s eyes slowly drift downward.

“I made business… _personal_.”

Victor briefly turns away, shamefaced. He knits his brow and struggles to answer, his voice not quite a whisper.

“I fucked up.”

Zsasz briefly looks into Martín’s eyes and frowns before rubbing his mouth again. He puffs out a sigh and shifts, soon shoving a hand in his pocket for a roll of cash. He slips out a c-note and leaves it on the table. Just as Victor’s about to pocket the cash, he stops for a moment then slides it across the table to Martín, nodding toward it.

“For school.”

He shrugs.

“Or whatever.”

Victor clenches his jaw.

“I gotta go.”

Martín nods and holds up a finger as the hitman rises to leave. He pulls the karambit from his pocket and slides it across the table. Zsasz struggles to school his face as he looks down at it. He licks his lips and shakes his head.

“No. I uh… never came back for you.”

He looks back up at Martín, before nodding at the blade.

“It’s _yours_ now. You’re gonna need it if you stay.”

Zsasz rises to leave and strides towards the door. As he pushes it open, he addresses Martín one last time, never bothering to look back.

“If you're smart, you won’t.”

—>o<—

Penguin and Klinefelter are busily making arrangements for the big party in less than two days. He hears a knock at the door and glances up. His muscle pokes his head into the office.

“Boss? You got company.”

Penguin turns his attention from Klinefelter and huffs, rolling his eyes and splaying his hands wide.

“Vincent! I told you, I’m _very_ busy right now. I’m not seeing any visitors.”

“I know, Boss, but I think you’re gonna wanna talk to _this_ one.”

Penguin scowls up from his desk and looks up to see Carlos Alvarez being nodded in.

“Mr. Cobblepot.”

Oswald curiously tilts his head and motions towards the guest chairs in front of his desk.

“ _Detective Alvarez._ Always a pleasure. Please come in. Have a seat.”

The tall man enters, raises a hand and shakes his head as Klinefelter rises with his entrance.

“Thank you, Mr. Cobblepot. I won’t be long. I just have a few questions.”

The lawman is flanked by his personal assistant and his muscle. Vincent warily watches him. Richard clicks his pen, grabs his notepad and straightens his glasses.

Oswald regards the tall man.

_Confident and professional. Not brusque and officious like Jim._

Penguin tents his fingers and smiles.

“I’m always happy to help a friend. What can I do for you?”

“Mr. Cobblepot, a woman was found murdered yesterday. Maura Lapinski.”

The detective produces a photo of the woman and offers it to the kingpin. Oswald takes a glance at the morgue photo—a headshot. He instantly notices the woman’s sliced throat, but her face is unfamiliar to him. He clucks and shakes his head.

“I’ve been _very_ busy for weeks planning my event. I can assure you I have no knowledge of or any involvement with—.”

“Mr. Cobblepot, you’re not a suspect. We believe your life may be in danger.”

The kingpin puffs out an amused snort before grinning and chuckling.

“Well, detective, my life has been in danger for _decades_ now….”

Oswald shrugs with amusement and smiles.

“Yet, here I am. Perhaps if you enlightened me on why you feel I might be a target, I could better… ‘assist’ you.”

Carlos shakes his head.

“I’m not at liberty to discuss the specifics of the investigation, but the killer could be trying to send you a message.”

“What kind of message? I hardly see how the death of a random woman has anything to do with me.”

“Mr. Cobblepot…”

The detective presses his lips together and looks to the floor.

“I can’t go into specifics, but crime scene evidence suggests the killer could be targeting you or your upcoming celebration.”

Oswald blinks and looks back and forth between the three men feeling an eerie familiarity. So many elements of the unfolding scene niggle at him: the detective’s warning of a ‘message’ seems entirely too reminiscent of Jim’s search for Professor Pyg... there’s also Edward’s conspicuous absence and insistence on perfecting his latest scheme… and the woman in the photo. Despite being unfamiliar to him...

_There’s something about the cut on her neck._

He squints at the photo, noting how much deeper the incision is on the right side of her neck and how it trails off to the left as if her killer is left-handed the way _he_ is. Just like… Penguin’s lips begin parting.

_It can’t be._

“Mr. Cobblepot?”

Penguin snaps from his thoughts and returns his attention to the detective. His eyes briefly drift back between the three men who are so reminiscent of… He absently shakes his head.

“Forgive me, detective. I… have many things on my mind.”

He offers a forced smile and a nod.

“I’m afraid I have no information to offer you. If this killer is indeed targeting me, I…”

He puffs out a mirthless snort and shakes his head.

“I’m sure he’ll make himself known soon enough, won’t he? Until then, Detective Alvarez, I have other appointments today. Unless there’s anything else I can do for you, I really must tend to them.”

The tall man nods.

“Of course. Thank you for your time, Mr. Cobblepot.”

 

_— >o<— _

_Oswald surveys his kingdom from his Iceberg Lounge office with a glass of topshelf in hand and Nina Simone on the turntable. Short of Edward’s escape during that hiccup at the docks, things have been going well for him._

_Gotham appears to be in his pocket after eliminating Falcone’s remaining capos. Sofia doesn’t seem to have any designs on the city. However, even if she wanted to claim her father‘s throne, she hasn’t the numbers to pull off such a coup. His only other rival at large is Edward—and the man’s clearly no longer a threat. Oswald shakes his head and takes a few slow swallows, thinking back on how pathetic the man’s become._

“Okay, Oswald. I’m not the Riddler. Do it.”

_Penguin’s growing more comfortable with Sofia and their public appearances together. He previously met with her to prove he had the Falcone endorsement, but now finds himself looking forward to her company and their meetings—so much so, he’s finally gotten to the point he no longer keeps Zsasz with him at all times. If Oswald needs personal security, he now feels confident enough to rely upon Fries, Pike or Victor’s men. A few of Victor's men are outside the club now while the man oversees collections._

_Past Simone’s voice crackling in the background, he hears rapidly approaching footsteps. Gordon strides into his office with_ **_that_ ** _look on his face—like he’s bracing for a fight or prepared to make some sort of demand. The man’s visibly agitated and it comes as no surprise. The press has already given Gotham’s cop killer a monicker: Professor Pyg. Word also just broke of Bullock’s hospitalization._

_After the detective turns around from closing the door behind him, Oswald notices Jim’s clenched jaw and flaring nostrils._

_“Pax Penguina ends now!”_

_“Well, hello to you too, Jim. Manners cost nothing, you know. Tell me; what’s sparked that righteous indignation of yours_ **_this_ ** _time?”_

_Jim strides forward and lowers his voice to a growl._

_“Cops are being_ **_killed_ ** _because they’re on your payroll. You’re legitimizing crime and promoting police corruption! It’s putting all cops’ lives at risk! Harvey was almost killed today!”_

_Oswald smirks. He takes a casual swallow from his tumbler before setting it down on the wet bar and hobbling forward, his smile wide and knowing. He emphasizes his words with an index finger and an arched brow._

_“Now, Jim. I don’t have to tell you because you know better than most. A career in law enforcement is fraught with peril, especially in this city.”_

_Oswald’s eyes gleam and his chest puffs like a rooster’s._

_“In fact, it’s one of the reasons I instituted my program: to save lives. Besides, those men and women understood the risks when they decided to become—.”_

_Jim quickly narrows the gap between them and crowds the smaller man, cutting him off. His face is hot with anger at the kingpin’s maddening pomposity._

_“There’s nobody here but the two of us. Cut the shit, Oswald. This ends_ **_now_** _. The GCPD got pig heads delivered to every member of our precinct.”_

_Penguin smirks and sidles up closer, eyes narrowing at the detective. He arches a brow and tilts his head. The kingpin’s tone grows low, calculated and knowing._

_“_ ** _Every_ ** _one? As a humble civilian, I know I’m not privy to matters of police business, but from what I understand every person_ **_but one_ ** _received a head. That person being_ **_you_** _, Jim. If your suspect’s indeed targeting corrupt cops, why didn’t_ **_you_ ** _receive a threat?”_

_Oswald points his index finger at Jim’s chest and sneers._

_“We_ **_both_ ** _know you aren’t as squeaky clean as you’d like everyone to believe you are.”_

_Jim clenches his teeth and grabs the wrist of the hand pointing at him, seething with fury. Why the hell he ever spared this man’s life…. He can still see Harvey’s cut neck and wide eyes. He can still hear the man’s cracking voice in his hospital bed, his face twisting with shame._

“The debts I got.  I didn’t do anything I wouldn’t have done already.”

_Jim yanks Oswald forward and tangles his fingers around the man’s finely-tailored lapel. His lips curl at the sight of the man before him… the way he looks… proud, pompous and smug in his grandiose regalia. God how he’d love to knock the smirk off that smug face and take him down a peg—or ten. How he’d love to stuff that smart mouth with his dick. He snarls._

_“I’m not kidding, Oswald. If you don’t stop it, I will!”_

_Oswald’s eyes widen when Jim grabs at him and pulls him close. He glances at the hands on him before looking back at the detective with surprise. It's then that he sees the flash in Jim’s eyes as he stares down to his mouth._ **_That_ ** _look. So similar to the one he sees on Victor right before the man grabs him and they fuck._

Hot. Hungry. **Hard.**

_Oswald’s lips part with the realization:_

Gotham’s knight in shining armor wants **you** : his dirty little secret.

_Penguin feels the stirring that comes with it and it thrills him. He gazes up into the detective’s eyes and raises the fingers of his free hand to Jim’s lips._

_Jim looks looks down at Oswald’s approaching fingers unable to move. He blinks the moment they touch his lower lip and moans when they catch on the inner part of it, slightly pulling it down. Jim’s struck by the sound of it. He shakes his head, releases Oswald’s lapel and grabs at his other wrist to stop him._

_“What the fuck are you…?”_

_Gordon’s words die on his lips. It’s too late. Far too late. He’s standing way too close Oswald—so close he can smell the nuances of the man’s cologne and see how big and blown the man’s pupils are… those freckles and flush of his cheeks. He’s vaguely aware of the heat and the swelling in his pants. Before he realizes it, his mouth is already smashed against Penguin’s and wrestling for purchase. The sound of Jim’s spontaneous groan when he forces his tongue into Oswald’s mouth surprises him._

_Penguin groans into Jim’s mouth and shudders the moment he feels the man’s demanding hands claw at his jacket. He relishes the thought of it how badly Jim Gordon, Gotham’s super cop, wants him right now. The fact Jim probably hates himself for it makes it that much better—even better than all the other times when the detective came to him in the past because he had no place else to turn._

The way Jim looks like right now… like he can’t stop himself from touching you, grabbing you, forcing his mouth on you. His hands are tugging at your clothes… touching you **there** … Jim’s going to hate himself for this. Maybe you will too but that doesn’t matter right now because Jim Gordon's looking at you like you are the **only** thing that matters right now.

_Oswald's reeling from the thought of Gotham's hero ripping off **his** jacket and grabbing at **his** tie: frenzied and desperate. He can feel the low, deep swell and spreading torridity overtaking him, spurred on by Jim's clawing hands yanking at his shirt and reaching to unfasten his trousers._

Jim’s so hot right now. That snarling lip… that fire in his eyes… You’ve seen that look before. The first time you saw it was when he grabbed you and walked you to the edge of the pier. But this time, he wants to **join** you. This time, **you’re** the one walking him over his own pier and he’s not even walking. He’s practically **racing** to the edge of it because damn if he doesn’t want it and want it **bad** … as if he doesn’t give a shit if it’ll ruin him.

And you’d be lying if you didn’t admit this is all you’ve ever wanted… watching the mighty Jim Gordon crumble before you… his mouth is swollen and hungry… forcing it on your mouth… the mouth you always catch him staring at… the scrape of his teeth against your lips, moaning as he ruts against you and reaches into your trousers…

 

_— 卌 —_

_Victor strides into the Iceberg Lounge, greeted by the sound of Nina Simone._

He’s in a mood.

_Zsasz notices the office door slightly ajar, but not closed.  He’s well-accustomed with Penguin’s love of privacy, regularly requiring time to think strategy or devise his machinations. These days he seems to be walled up more than ever between The Pax Penguina and Sofia’s arrival in Gotham._

_Zsasz strides up to the office. Past the sound of the music, he hears the sound of activity inside it. Just as he’s about the to knock, he hears the sound of a quiet, but heated exchange. Victor unholsters a Sig, presses his fingers against the door and quietly pushes it open._

_Inside, Detective Gordon stands_ **_far_ ** _closer to Penguin than he needs to be with_ **_that look_ ** _on his face. The one that Jim gets when he talks to The Boss. The detective’s not even aware he wants Penguin, despite how painfully obvious it is. Gordon stares the man down the way a ravenous man stares at a steak._

_Victor’s eyes drift to Oswald. The moment he sees the desire in The Boss’ eyes, Zsasz feels the envy and resentment gather like metal filings to a magnet. His bile rises and gut twists._

He doesn’t look at you that way anymore. He looks at you like he **owns** you now. Because he does. And he **knows** it. He **wants** Jim.

 _Victor silently watches the men. Sure he loves fucking Penguin, burying himself inside the notorious man—knowing_ ** _he’s the only one_ ** _who can please Penguin and make him feel things no one else does, but there’s also a huge part of him that just loves to watch—even if ( **especially** if) it makes his jealousy uncoil_ _. Zsasz's jaw hardens and his facial muscles retract._

He doesn’t look at you the way he looks at Jim. Not anymore. He **used** to… back when you first started fucking him—before fully realizing his power. Before he really began tapping into that part of you that **loves** being told what to do. Loves receiving orders.

_The detective’s jacket is already on a guest chair. Victor watches the man toss Penguin’s jacket to the side and yank at his exquisitely-crafted tie as Oswald gazes up at him._

He’s looking at Jim the same way he looks at you before you fuck him. Smug. Knowing. **Proud.**

_Zsasz’s lip curls when Penguin tugs at Jim’s tie and works at the buttons of the detective’s shirt. Oswald quickly unfastens the man’s belt and trousers, reaching to take the detective in hand, groaning as he does. Zsasz grits his teeth._

He’s touching Jim the way he touches **you.**

_Victor observes Gordon in kind. The man makes quick work of Penguin’s buttons, hastily unclipping his suspenders and reaching to yank open his pants. By the time Gordon reaches into them to take Penguin in hand, Victor’s seen enough. He silently strides up to the detective without being noticed. Zsasz presses the nozzle of his Sig against Jim’s head and releases the safety._

_— >j<— _

_Jim’s shocked by the familiar sound of a cocking gun and the sensation of its barrel at his head, snapping him from his lust-fueled actions. His eyes widen and he blinks in shock. He looks down at Penguin who’s wide-eyed and gaping like a fish on a hook at the sound of an all-too-familiar voice that’s breezy on the surface, despite the danger roiling just beneath it._

_“Oh no, Jim. Don’t stop on my account.”_

_Both men are half-naked and painfully erect, faces flushed and chests heaving. The sound of the Sig and Zsasz’s menacing growl are wildly incongruous with[sultry, stringed instruments, the sustained horns and tinkling piano with Simone’s sultry and impassioned alto](https://youtu.be/ua2k52n_Bvw). _ 

[ “I put a spell on you….](https://youtu.be/ua2k52n_Bvw)  
['cause you're mine….](https://youtu.be/ua2k52n_Bvw)

_The hitman shoves the barrel of his gun harder against Jim’s head and reaches to unholster the detective’s service pistol. Once in hand, Victor walks from behind Jim, all the while keeping his GSR locked on the detective. Zsasz walks Jim’s weapon to the far side of Oswald’s desk and opens the drawer, placing it inside and reaching to pull some condoms from it._

“Ya better stop the things you do.  
I ain’t lyin’.  
No, I ain’t lyin’....”

_He unabashedly walks up to Jim and shoves the condoms against the detective’s chest._

_“Just know one thing:_ **_nobody_ ** _comes inside Oswald Cobblepot.”_

“Ya know I can’t stand it.  
Ya runnin’ around.  
Ya know better, daddy.  
I can’t stand it ‘cause ya put me down.  
Yeah yeah.  
I put a spell on you  
Because you’re mine.  
You’re mine.”

_Victor frowns down at Jim’s arousal and offers an impressed, measured nod. He returns Jim’s gaze and arches a brow. His jaw is square and tight, voice low and thick with menace._

_“We good?”_

_Jim’s face grows hot. He’s unsure if it’s the Zsasz, the Sig locked on him, being caught with Oswald almost completely undressed, hot and hard in his hand, but Jim swears he’s even harder now. He feels himself twitch and turns to look at Oswald, who’s looking on wide-eyed. The man’s pale green eyes dart between him, Victor and his readied GSR. Jim watches Oswald begin to speak to his enforcer, only to think better of it._

_Victor’s growl snaps Jim from his thoughts._

_“Jim? I’m still waiting for confirmation.”_

_Jim looks at the GSR and the man pointing it at him. He swallows, his throat parched._

_“Yeah. We’re good.”_

_Victor narrows his gaze, carefully regarding the detective before nodding and slowly easing._

_“Good man, Jim.”_

_Zsasz engages the safety and reholsters his Sig before shrugging out of his holster and casually placing it atop the seat of Penguin’s ostentatious chair. Jim watches in stunned silence as Victor stands expectantly before the kingpin. Oswald immediately begins unbuttoning the man’s vest, shirt and trousers with well-practiced familiarity. All the while Victor slowly unfastens and removes his gloves, staring Jim down with a narrowed gaze and subtle smirk tugging at his lips._

_Jim watches Penguin’s changing expression and slowing fingers with the following lyrics. He also takes note of Victor’s parting lips and accelerated breathing as he removes his jacket and vest before joining Penguin in unbuttoning his shirt._

“I love you.  
I love you anyhow.  
And I don’t care if you don’t want me.  
I’m yours right now.”

_Victor maintains eye contact with Jim, now wide-eyed as he takes in the sight of his heavily scarred upper body. Victor slowly cards his ringed fingers through Penguin’s hair, tangling them in it and tugging his head to one side, exposing the man’s lily-white neck. He watches Jim lick his lips as he lowers his mouth to The Boss’ neck and slowly bites into it. Victor groans as Oswald decadently pulls him out and handles him._

“Oh, ya hear me?  
I put a spell on you  
Because you're mine…”

_—_

_Jim can scarcely believe he’s had his hands all over Oswald under Victor’s scrutinizing gaze. He’s surprised by how much it thrills him to have Zsasz pacing around them, watching on with impossibly dark eyes, especially when Penguin handles him—and not Victor. The promise of Zsasz’s narrowing gaze and curled lip emboldens Jim to act more brazenly, pointedly watching Victor grow increasingly jealous when Penguin takes him into his mouth._

_Later, Oswald’s sprawled out across on his desk. Jim’s nose is nudging into the nest of black pubic hair as he takes the man all the way down, drunk on his heady scent, frenzied thrusts and licentious moans as Victor thrusts into his hand. The detective feels the shift of Penguin’s hips when Victor asserts dominance by assuming control and repositioning the man._

_Only then does Jim notice Zsasz: ruddy, glistening and groaning as he finally positions himself to enter Penguin. Jim slows his pace and looks up at Victor with Oswald still in his mouth._

_Victor peers directly into Jim's eyes._

_“There a problem, Jim?”_

_The detective pulls off the kingpin._

_“You said nobody—.”_

_Victor stretches a predatory grin before slowly sinking himself inside Penguin._

_“_ _Nobody_ _but_ **_me_** _.”_

— ¿? —

Edward knew Ivy would be hard to convince, going so far as to prepare for the worst: her flat-out refusal. Prepared for the very real possibility, he decides to lean on Harley—appealing to the woman’s sense of adventure. He lowers his voice and purrs at the impish woman whose arm is wrapped around the shoulder of the unimpressed redhead.

“ _Come now_ , Harley. Don’t tell me you’ve _never_ wanted to have a little fun at the GCPD.”

The logician waves a dramatic hand and smiles.

“Imagine it… the _entire_ precinct spellbound and under Ivy’s influence.”

The pig-tailed blonde playfully raises her eyes and scrunches her nose, raising her shoulders with excitement. She nudges Ivy’s neck and takes a playful nibble at her ear.

“Aww! C’mon, pumpkin! We’ve never been in there together! It’ll be so much fun!”

The corner of Ed’s mouth subtly raises the instant he sees Pepper soften with Harley’s coaxing. Ivy crosses her arms with a huff. She grumbles up at the tall, lanky devil.

“Fine. I’ll do it—but _not_ for you and _definitely not for him_.”

Ivy lovingly gazes at that woman who drives her crazy in the best possible way and smiles in spite of herself.

“Only because _Harley_ wants to.”

Edward claps his hands together and holds them, leaning back and smirking with delight.

“Outstanding.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I first dreamt up this story, I never planned on having any Gobblepot but… as I suggested in my previous chapter, I couldn’t help myself. I now find it funny that it bugged the crap outta me to leave this story unfinished for so long, but now I’m really glad I did. The original concept wasn't nearly as interesting and certainly wouldn’t have _this_ tawdry deliciousness in it.
> 
> I originally never envisioned all the GorZsaszlepot stuff but most of my writing’s inspired by music. After beginning this story, I remember randomly hearing Nina Simone’s cover of “I Put a Spell On You”—which is _bar none_ my favorite cover of this song (despite my deep love for CCR’s and Manson’s iconic covers). When I heard Nina's cover, I remembering envisioning Oswald in total seduction mode. 
> 
> Whenever I stop projecting my own sexuality onto Pengy, I consider him either asexual or demisexual. Still, regardless of Oswald’s sexuality, I feel the man is highly seductive. He's a master manipulator: regularly tempting and luring people with a garden of earthly delights. With all these things in mind, I couldn’t help but think of the other two covers of “I Put a Spell On You” as a perfect way to not only remind Jim and Victor of Oswald’s seduction in this chapter, but as a very fitting way to symbolize their “take” on what happened. In fact, for anyone who bothers to listen to those covers, there are some really interesting (musical/stylistic/lyrical) nuances in each version that beautifully align with each man’s perspective and feelings.
> 
> ______
> 
> Okie dokie. Y’all know the drill. Thanks for the reads, the kudos and the lovely, lovely comments. You guys are the greatest! 
> 
> }8> Jess


	7. Love My Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now: Victor struggles with an unexpected reminder of his past. Jim faces some difficult questions. Oswald experiences doubt as he finalizes his preparations for his upcoming celebration.
> 
> ______
> 
> _Then: Zsasz crosses a line with Penguin. Oswald’s relationship with Edward takes a surprising turn._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“Hey pig_   
>  _Nothing's turning out the way I planned_   
>  _Hey pig_   
>  _There's a lot of things I hoped you could help me understand_   
>  _What am I supposed to do?_   
>  _I lost my shit because of you…”_   
>  [ _—“Piggy” (Nine Inch Nails—Lyrics by Trent Reznor)_ ](https://youtu.be/NQ4S9ydkMG4)   
>    
>    
>    
>  _“Someday we'll meet_   
>  _And you'll dry all my tears_   
>  _Then whisper sweet_   
>  _Little things in my ear_   
>  _Hugging and a-kissing_   
>  _Oh, what I've been missing_   
>  _Lover man, oh, where can you be?”_   
>  _—Lyrics to “Lover Man”_   
> 

— 卌 —

Victor replays his unexpected encounter with Martín and their conversation at the diner as Gotham flies by him on his motorcycle. All he can do is see that fucking question and the look on the kid’s face.

**_Why didn’t you come back for me?_ **

Zsasz’s face _still_ burns.

He _did_ fuck up. _Badly_.

The years and distance didn’t seem to matter. Everything was so much easier before learning the truth about Sofia from Gordon. Before Penguin, Victor dutifully served his bosses, starting with the late, great Don Falcone until he left Gotham to the kingpin.

Despite Zsasz’s previous loyalty to the Falcone name, he never dreamed of leaving Penguin when Sofia arrived in Gotham—and certainly not once they began fucking. However, it wasn’t long after that things began changing, notably Penguin (even before Don Falcone’s assassination). He began pulling away, spending more time behind closed doors alone (or alone with Sofia).

_“Victor. Please be sure we’re not disturbed.”_

Penguin became increasingly dismissive, needing him less and less once he felt he had Gotham buttoned up—convinced no one would dare make a move to challenge him because he owned everyone and everything (all sealed with the Falcone stamp of approval).

Oswald spent more time with Don Falcone’s daughter and less time with him. Victor was well-aware of the pecking order: Sofia was a Falcone and he was just “the help”. He had that ingrained in him for years serving the Don.

It didn't matter how loyally he served or how much he impressed the great man; he was not _"a Falcone"_. He was not _"family"_ or _"blood"_. Hell, he wasn't even _Italian_ (for which he received endless shit from Falcone's family and capos, but never in front of the old man). Because Don Falcone respected his hard work, steadfastness and loyalty, he sternly (but patiently) tempered Zsasz's occasional bouts of impatience and quietly reprimanded his intermittent retorts.

Certainly, if Zsasz could pass muster with generations-old mafioso traditionists and earn the trust of Gotham's greatest mob boss without crumbling under the pressure, he could withstand anything a boss could throw at him. But that was before he dared to touch what wasn't _his_ to touch, before he dared to  _want_ beyond what was his to have.

That desire began blurring lines and compounding matters, especially once he began feeling shut out. If all that weren’t enough, Penguin stabbed Wendy—but it was the shit with Gordon that made it virtually impossible for Victor maintain any level of objectivity or detachment.

_—_

_Victor paces around his quarters on the Van Dahl estate like a caged animal with[Manson’s cover of **that song**](https://youtu.be/VDEwl4r9-6k) blaring. The instant Zsasz feels a shift in the room and sees the door opening from his peripheral vision, he reaches for a Sig—only to stop at the sight of the kingpin. _

_Zsasz retracts his facial muscles and clenches his teeth. He slowly blinks and stiffly replies as he lowers his hand from his holster._

_“Boss.”_

_Penguin clears his throat, enters and closes the door behind him._

_“Victor, you weren’t at today’s briefing. I… hoped I might speak to you about the Pax Penguina…”_

_Zsasz squints and slowly rubs his lips. His voice lowers to a growl._

_“Didn’t Penn give you my numbers and report?”_

_Oswald clears his throat, doing his best to hide his growing discomfort._

_“Well, yes, he did but…”_

_“So what’s the problem?”_

_“Zsasz, I’d like to—.”_

_Victor arches a brow and offers a measured nod._

_“So it’s_ **_‘Zsasz’_ ** _now?”_

_“Victor…”_

_Victor crosses his arms and leans to one side with his head tilted while the kingpin stammers._

_“...about what happened with Detective Gordon…”_

_Victor responds with mixture of surprise and sarcasm._

_“Oh **and**_ **_**‘Detective Gordon’** _ ** _now? What happened to…”_

_Zsasz looks up and slowly swivels his head the opposite direction before returning Penguin’s gaze and hardening his face._

_“_ **_‘Jim’_ ** _?”_

_Zsasz’s impudence finally riles Oswald to the point his anxiety takes a backseat. He counters with indignance._

_“Victor, I_ **_hardly_ ** _think that’s the point at issue here. Perhaps you and I need to revisit our ‘personal and professional relationship’.”_

_“Perhaps.”_

_Victor sucks his teeth._

_“You_ **_are_ ** _The Boss.”_

_“Victor… I’ve been thinking we might consider returning to a more… **professional** relationship.” _

_“Isn’t that what we have?”_

_“Yes, Victor, we do but… I feel what happened with Detective Gordon… may have crossed a line.”_

_Victor’s brow knits and he scrunches his mouth to one side, stepping in closer to Penguin. Zsasz’s eyes flash and he reaches for Oswald’s neck. Penguin feels the man’s ringed fingers grow tighter; his breathing accelerates as the hitman leans in to nuzzle his neck and press his lips against his ear, snarling._

_“Which part exactly? You fucking ‘Detective Gordon’... or me joining in?”_

_Oswald swallows._

_“Victor… I… demonstrated a regrettable lapse in judgment but let’s not skirt the issue. I feel we should discuss our professional relationship.”_

_Zsasz bites at Penguin’s ear, unfastens his jacket and rubs at the front of his suit trousers. He growls._

_“I’m listening.”_

_Penguin’s breathing quickly accelerates and his hips are already pitching forward to meet Victor’s hand._

_“I just don’t think…”_

_Oswald groans when Victor takes him by the wrist and guides his hand between his legs. The kingpin grits his teeth, willing himself to pull his hand away, but he can’t. His fingers are already wrapping themselves around Zsasz and the butt of his hand is now firmly rubbing against the man’s swelling rigidity._

_Zsasz grabs Penguin’s tie and drags him to his modest, neatly-made bed with hospital corners. Victor pushes Oswald onto it and quickly clambers atop him, slotting himself between the man's opening legs. He aggressively ruts against Oswald, forcing his mouth onto him and shoving his tongue into it. The kingpin’s already unfastened him. Zsasz groans once The Boss finally liberates him from his trousers, immediately returning the gesture between heavy breaths and groans._

_“But don’t you keep me around to neutralize threats? To intimidate challengers?”_

_Victor yanks down Oswald’s trousers and silk boxers past his knees and shoves his first two fingers into the man’s mouth. He groans when Penguin begins licking and sucking them in earnest._

_“To do the things you don’t wanna do? Or dirty yourself with?”_

_Victor pulls his fingers from Penguin’s hungry mouth and guides them between the man’s legs, slipping inside. Both men shudder and groan._

_“Or is_ **_that_ ** _what you wanna talk to me about?”_

 _Zsasz pushes further inside and curls his fingers seeking out_ **_that_ ** _spot. He rubs and stirs the moment Oswald cries out and goes rigid. Victor twitches. His quads and glutes begin flexing. Zsasz gnarls._

 _“The fact I **didn’t**_ **_fuck_ ** _‘Detective Gordon’, too?”_

_Victor hoists Penguin’s legs and rests them against his chest. He snarls down at Oswald, looking past the suit trousers gathered below his knees. The heels of the kingpin’s studded wingtips are digging behind his shoulders and the shoes’ spikes are poking either side of his neck._

_Zsasz yanks down his own trousers and spits into his hand, jerking himself rigid before lining himself up. He grunts the moment he enters the smaller man’s delicious, taut heat. He hoists Penguin’s ass and leans in, soon fucking the man without ceremony._

_“Cause we both know how dirty_ **_he_ ** _is, don’t we?”_

_Oswald’s gazing up at him, lost… adrift... jaw slack and eyes drooping. Penguin grabs onto Victor’s bedding and emphatically nods his head, barely able to speak. His words break with each thrust._

_“Y… yes… we… do. Vic… tor… Oh… god…"_

_Victor snarls down at him, working to keep himself steady as Oswald tightens and bears down around him._

_“Or is_ **_that_ ** _why you’re mad?”_

_Zsasz pounds Penguin who’s mumbling and pushing his head into the bed as he quakes._

_“Oh god, Vic—!”_

_‘Cause I know about you and Dirty Dick Gordon?”_

_Victor rams into Oswald’s pitching hips, spurred on by the man’s howling burst._

_“‘Cause you want him all to yourself?”_

_Zsasz growls as he grinds into the smaller man, snarling through his clenched teeth as he gushes._

_“Or is it because I didn’t knock?”_

_Zsasz continues pushing himself further into Penguin until he’s completely spent._

_“V-V-Vic… tor…”_

_The hitman finally comes back to himself with the strangled sound of his name. Penguin’s hair is mussed and his tear-stained face is red from strain and lack of breath. The crime lord’s brocade tie firmly wrapped around the gunman’s right hand. Zsasz shakes his head and slowly blinks at the blood on it. Only then does he notice his combat knife at Penguin’s bleeding neck and the man's spilt seed all over his wrecked waistcoat. Victor peers back up into hardened green eyes when Oswald sneers._

_“Get_ **_off_ ** _me.”_

 

—>j<—

Jim finally arrives home. He tosses his keys on the kitchen counter and shouts as he reaches to loosen his tie.

“Harv?”

Bullock raises his hand from the couch in the living room before groaning and rising.

“Barbie already had dinner and took her bath. She’s in her room and her homework’s done.”

Jim presses his lips together and scratches the back of his head, looking up at his old partner.

“No tv right?”

Bullock places a hand to his chest and raises a hand.

“No tv.”

Jim tilts his head and arches a brow. Bullock deflates and sheepishly raises both hands in surrender.

“ _All right_. It was only half an hour—and it was _public_ television. _Educational_ stuff. That hardly counts as tv.”

Gordon shakes his head and puffs out a chuckle as he approaches Bullock and pulls him in for a hug.

“Fair enough.”

Jim pats the taller man’s cheek and pulls him close.

“Besides, how could I possibly stay mad at _this_ face?”

Harvey smiles before heading for the front door.

“Exactly. Admit it, Jim. You don’t deserve me.”

“I don’t. Thank you, brother.”

“You bet.”

Bullock takes Jim by the neck and presses his kiss on the man’s forehead before leaving. Harvey opens the front door and stops for a moment.

“Say, uh… Jim?”

He thoughtfully rubs his beard before looking and nodding upstairs.

“Go easy on her. That boy was talkin’ shit about Barbara being in Arkham.”

Jim’s brow knits with concern. He presses his lips together and soberly nods.

“Yeah. Okay. Thanks, man. We’ll talk.”

—

Barbara Lee Gordon sits at her desk in her pajamas, her hair still wet from her bath. She’s looking up intently at Selina who just alighted on her windowsill.

“Nice job teaching that creep a lesson today.”

The small strawberry blonde’s grin stretches wide.

“You saw?”

“Yeah, but you still need to be careful.”

“But I gave him _two_ black eyes.”

“Yeah… but he was with his friends and you weren’t watching them. They could’ve given _you_ two black eyes—or worse. Remember how I told you, ‘Don’t turn your back on a guy unless you’re sure he’s down’?”

“That’s what I did.”

“I know. You did good with that, but you didn’t watch any of those other guys with him like I told you. They could’ve hurt you real bad.”

“But they didn’t—and he was talking about my mom. Not my mom, Lee. My _real_ mom.”

“What did they say?”

“That my mom was in Arkham ‘cause she killed her parents. That she was crazy and I’m just like her.”

“Screw that guy. He’s an idiot. Ya gotta stop lettin’ people get to you.”

“But—.”

“Barbara. I’m serious. Don’t let ‘em get to you. That’s how you make mistakes. Mistakes can get you killed.”

“Is that why my mom’s dead? Because she was crazy and made mistakes?”

Selina’s face hardens.

“Don’t talk like that. Your mom was a tough lady and she didn’t take _any_ crap from _anyone_. She did things _her_ way even when people didn’t think she could or she should—and to _heck_ with anyone who says otherwise.”

Kyle’s brow knits at the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs.

“Remember— _always_ keep your eyes and ears open. I’ll talk to you later.”

Kyle vanishes as quickly as she appeared.

—

Jim heads up the stairs and knocks at his daughter’s door. He waits for her acknowledgment before opening it and finds her sitting at her desk looking out the window.

“Barbara, I think you and I should talk about what happened today.”

The girl reluctantly turns to face him. She chews her lower lip and uncomfortably shifts.

“Yes, sir.”

Jim sits on her bed.

“How ‘bout you come over here and tell me what happened with that boy?”

Barbara sighs and shuffles over to her bed to sit.

“I told you. I gave David two black eyes.”

“I’m aware of that. You still have yet to tell me _why_.”

“He’s a bully and he made me mad.”

“Barbara, everyone gets mad sometimes. That’s part of life. But that doesn’t mean we can punch people and fight whenever they upset us.”

“He said that my _real_ mom was ‘a crazy Arkham nut job’. That I was just like her and that I ‘should be in Arkham with all the other crazies’.”

“Barbara…”

The girl crosses her arms and huffs.

“Don’t _you_ ever get mad?”

“Of course I do.”

“So you’ve never gotten mad and punched anyone?”

Jim deflates.

“Barbara. I’ve gotten mad plenty of times. I had—okay, _have_ a bad temper and… yes. I’ve punched people.”

“Like that Zsasz guy?”

Jim nods remembering Harvey’s earlier discussion with her at the bar.

“Yeah. Like him.”

“But isn’t he a bad guy?”

“Barbara… this isn’t about people being ‘good’ or ‘bad’. Things aren’t always that simple. Yes. I’ve gotten mad and punched people. Gotten into fights. Plenty of them. I’ve done that and worse. _Much_ worse. I’ve hurt people—without even laying a single finger on them. _Good_ people. People I love and care about because I thought I was doing the right thing. Your mom. Your uncle Harvey. Even your mom, Lee. I’m not proud of _any_ of that. I just don’t…”

He looks thoughtfully at the girl.

“I don’t want you to make the same mistakes I did. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“C’mon let’s get you to bed.”

Jim tucks his daughter in and presses a kiss on her head before rising to leave. Just as he reaches to turn out her light and close the door, she stops him.

“Dad. Is it true? Was she crazy? Did she really kill her parents like he said?”

Jim briefly rubs his mouth with a fist and looks down before returning to her. He takes a breath and looks into watchful eyes, so much like her mother’s.

—

_Barbara’s bleeding out and fading fast, having risked her own life to save their daughter and Lee from Nyssa Al Ghul. She’s unable to hold their baby without help. Jim holds them both in his arms, trying to reassure and encourage Barbara, warily glancing back to Lee’s grave expression—noting the tight, subtle shaking of her head._

_Jim smiles down at their tiny daughter and makes an attempt at levity, watching Barbara grow weaker._

_“Thank_ **_god_ ** _she got your nose.”_

_Barbara weakly laughs and softly nods as she lovingly gazes down at their daughter._

_“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”_

_Jim’s struck by Barbara’s eyes when she turns to look up at him._

_“Jim, don’t let her forget me.”_

_“You’re going to be fine.”_

_“You were always a terrible liar.”_

_“Barb—.”_

_“Jim._ **_Stop_** _. Tell her I love her._ **_Every_ ** _day. Don’t forget. I don’t want her not knowing like me—the way I grew up. You remember. I want Selina to be her godmother.”_

_He nods, working hard to keep his voice calm and reassuring._

_“You’re not going anywhere. You can tell her yourself. Selina too.”_

_Kean smiles at their daughter before looking back up at Jim, her eyes soft and wet. She turns and offers Lee a weak smile._

_“I’m sorry I hurt you. And that I tried to kill you._ **_Twice_** _.” She tries to laugh. “Thank you for helping me—_ ** _us_ ** _when you didn’t have to. I’m sorry I…”_

_Jim gently shakes her when she starts drifting._

_“Barbara, c’mon. You can do this…”_

_“Tell her I love her._ **_Every_ ** _day, Jim._ **_Promise_ ** _me.”_

_He grimaces and presses his lips together, stiffly nodding._

_“I promise.”_

_Barbara can barely kiss the top of their daughter’s head._

_“I wish I could be there to see the incredible woman you’ll grow to be. I love you, sweetheart.”_

—

“Barbara. You’re a smart girl—just like your mother was.” He clears his throat and replies, “Yes. It is true. She _did_ spend time in Arkham and….” He briefly looks down before returning her gaze, his face knit with concern. “She _did_ kill them.”

The moment Barbara blinks and grows rigid, he reaches for her face and peers directly into her eyes.

“Hey. Listen. That’s not who your mom _really_ was. A man hurt her. _Badly_. He did things to her that… _changed_ her. I… like to remember her the way she _really_ was: beautiful. Kind. Funny. She was artistic like you. And even though that man changed her—he couldn’t take away her courage.”

“What do you mean?”

He puffs out an incredulous snort and smiles in spite of himself.

“Barbara, your mom risked her own safety to protect me—more than once. It’s how she died. She died trying to protect you because she loved you very much. She even tried to protect Lee. The city even.”

“So she wasn’t… ‘bad’?”

Jim takes his daughter’s hand.

“Barbara. It’s like I told you earlier. It’s not that simple. People aren’t that simple. They aren’t just ‘good’ or ‘bad’. Everyone’s made of both light and dark. Everyone.”

“Even you?”

“ _Especially_ me.”

“Go to sleep, sweetheart. I love you. Goodnight.”

Jim leans down and kisses his daughter. He rises from her bed and turns out the light before closing her door.

“Dad. Did those Penguin and Riddler guys really help save the city after the bridges blew? We talked about it in school.”

“They did. They… helped when a lot of people were too afraid and wouldn’t.”

“So you’re gonna see them this weekend and thank them?”

Jim blinks with incredulity thinking to himself, _“How the hell does she even know about…?”_  His daughter continues.

“You said we’re supposed to thank people when they help us—especially when no one else will and when everyone else is too afraid to do the right thing. Remember?”

Jim nods.

“I did say that, didn't I?”

“Uh huh. I love you, dad. Night.”

 

—>o<—

Penguin, Klinefelter and Vincent arrive at the tailor now that the man's completed the finishing touches of the kingpin’s tuxedo. The moment they drive up, Oswald checks his phone to see if Ed responded to the text he sent earlier.

 _My tux is ready._  
_Off to the haberdasher after._  
_Are you free?_

Penguin puffs a deflated sigh when he finds none. He attempts to call, but thinks better of it and shakes his head.

“Is there a problem, sir?”

Oswald blinks and looks up at Klinefelter’s earnest expression of concern.

“No, Richard. Not at all.”

The tailor welcomes the men into his shop. Before long, Penguin admires the man's work before the mirror, despite the frown pulling at his mouth when his eyes drift to his belly. He puffs a sigh. His tailor casts a worried glance.

“Is it not to your liking, Mr. Cobblepot?”

“No, Mr. Verwey. As usual, your work’s impeccable. It’s just…”

The older man’s gaze drifts to the kingpin’s midsection, garmented in a rich, deep purple brocade waistcoat.

“Ah. I see.”

He stands behind Penguin and peers into the man’s eyes through the mirror.

“Mr. Cobblepot, if I may. You are a man of renown and discrimination. A man of great stature and impeccable refinement. Think of it as a sign of your _success_. Not everyone is suited to carry themselves with such distinction.”

—

After arriving home late in the evening, Penguin hobbles to the parlor and pours himself some top shelf. He’s done little but think back to the woman’s neck wound in the photo Detective Alvarez showed him earlier in the day. He circles back to the disagreement he and his security lead had not long after.

 _“Boss, no disrespect, but aren’t you even a_ **_little_ ** _worried about what Detective Alvarez said? Nygma hasn’t been around for_ **_days_ ** _and someone really could be coming for you Saturday. I really think we should—.”_

 _“Vincent, I don’t pay you to_ **_think_** _! I pay you to follow orders! We have **more** than enough security at the club and at home. Consider this matter settled. We will speak no more of it.” _

Oswald removes his monocle and places it in his waistcoat pocket to rub his eyes. He hears Klinefelter clear his throat.

“He’s not wrong you know.”

“Oh! Now **you** , Richard?! I **hardly** see why I should heighten security because of the death of some random woman!”

The young man apologetically shakes his head, holding up his hand and demurring.

“Oh no, Mr. Cobblepot. I meant what Mr. Verwey said to you today. He’s right. You _are_ a man of impeccable refinement. Your sense of style is always note-perfect. It’s forward—yet classic. _Timeless_.”

The man blushes and glances down to the monocle in Penguin’s pocket.

“Even down to your eye wear.”

—

_Oswald knocks at Edward’s apartment door, smiling at the prospect of what he might hear or see upon entering. It could be anything from a hammer to a blowtorch to a whirring drill, Edward practicing his piano, pacing around meticulously dictating notes or intently reading in reverent silence._

_The conclusion of_ _[Debussy’s atmospheric ‘Nuages’](http://youtu.be/WEpzZjB6_D4)_ _plays in the background as he enters. Oswald chuckles to himself wondering if the second nocturne, Fêtes, will follow or if the man will queue something completely unexpected given his surprisingly eclectic taste in music. With the Delphian Edward Nygma, one never knows._

_The kingpin catches his reflection in a hallway mirror. He still isn’t used to his new glasses, despite his relief that his injured eye no longer requires a blacked-out lens. He never grew completely comfortable with the look, but they were still better than the eye patch. (It reminded him a little too much of Zsasz. Oswald couldn't help but recall the hitman's curious love of Jolly Rogers and pirates—even dressing up as one for Halloween.)_

_His eyes drift to his large, tear-shaped pupil, still mildly self-conscious about it. He’s still grateful Ed joined him when he selected his spectacles. While the men are now closer than they’ve been in years, they abruptly end the awkward silences and close proximity that seem to be growing in frequency after Ed tended to Oswald after his eye injury. Nygma’s quip pulls Oswald from his thoughts._

_“Careful there, Narcissus.”_

_Penguin puffs out with mild embarrassment._

_“Sorry, Ed. I just—.”_

_“You still don’t like them do you?”_

_Penguin presses his lips together._

_“I hoped I might be used to them by now, but…”_

_He shakes his head._

_“...to answer your question. No. I don’t. They’re too…”_

_“Pedestrian?”_

_Oswald shrugs with feigned innocence._

_“Precisely.”_

_“I thought so. Actually, Oswald, that’s why I invited you here today. I’ve been… thinking about an alternative that might be more to your liking.”_

_Nygma chews his lower lip with mild uncertainty and shifts on his feet._

_“Why don’t you come with me?”_

_Oswald takes note of Ed’s body language, notably absent of his usual conceit. It’s charming really, and oh-so-reminiscent of the days when he first met Edward, his first fan boy. He arches a brow and waves him forward, feeling a mild blush._

_“By all means. Please, lead the way.”_

_Oswald limps behind the tall man, chuckling at the sudden change in music. A few common time measures of xylophone and sparse rhythm guitar proceed the chords of a new wave synthesizer._

[ There's an army on the dance floor](https://youtu.be/LGD9i718kBU)  
It's a fashion with a gun, my love  
In any room without a door  
A kiss is not enough...  


_Edward walks over to retrieve something from his desk and turns to face Oswald. The lanky man looks down and thoughtfully fingers a small leather pouch before returning the man’s gaze. Edward clears his throat._

_“I… took the liberty of having this crafted for you. Perhaps you’ll find this more to your liking.”_

_Penguin squints with curiosity as he takes the offered pouch. He opens it and slides out a lens wrapped in a fine cloth. He raises a hand to his mouth and puffs out with surprise._

_“A_ **_monocle_** _?”_

_The tall man nervously smiles._

_“It was a favorite of the dandy and considered very fashionable in the 1800s.”_

_Oswald thoughtfully looks up and returns Edward’s gaze, smiling._

_“Are you suggesting I live and die before the mirror? That I’m ‘compelled to astonish’? ‘Compelling others to create me’?”_

_Edward chuckles with amusement._

_“You know Camus? You never cease to amaze me, Oswald. I should have known. It’s only fitting given ‘The Rebel’ you are, but allow me to stop you there. No one can accuse you of ‘playing at life because you fear living it’. You are by **far**  the bravest person I know.” _

_Penguin blushes and shakes his head. He raises the eyepiece and bashfully shrugs._

_“While I pride myself on gentlemen’s fashion, I’m afraid I don’t know the first thing about wearing one of these.”_

_Edward smiles and walks up closer. He removes Penguin’s glasses, folds them and tucks them into his pocket before cupping Penguin’s hand in his and taking the eyepiece in the other._

_“It’s not as difficult as you think. Allow me to show you.”_

_Ed places the eyepiece in Oswald’s palm and guides the man’s fingers with his own, smiling. He’s always admired the man's lovely hands._

_“Hold it by the loop with the galleries up. Open your eyes wide, like you’re surprised.” Edward grins. “Not unlike you did earlier when you discovered I got you a monocle.”_

_Both men snicker before Oswald obliges. Edward continues his instruction._

_“Perfect. Now rest the bottom gallery on your cheekbone and top one just below your eyebrow. Be sure to fit it close to your nose. It should feel comfortable. You shouldn’t have to squint and your eye shouldn’t feel stretched. How does it feel?”_

_Oswald laughs in spite of himself, feeling suddenly timid._

_“It’s surprisingly comfortable.”_

_He clears his throat before looking up at Ed, eyes fluttering as he feels the color rising in his cheeks._

_“How do I look?”_

_Edward blinks, absently opening and closing his mouth with astonishment—almost as if he’s seeing Oswald for the first time. He shakes his head and stammers._

_“You uh… look… perfect."_  
  
Ed swallows.

_"It suits you, Oswald.”_

_Oswald blinks and struggles to maintain eye contact._

_“Thank you, Ed.”_

They'd put us on a railroad  
They'd dearly make us pay  
For laughing in their faces  
And making it our way…

_Oswald doesn’t know if it’s the music, Ed’s physical proximity or the thoughtfulness of the gift, but he's unexpectedly overcome by the same stirring he felt by the fireplace with Ed after Butch almost choked the life out of him. Penguin gasps and shakes his head, taking a step back. He’d be damned if he'd make the same mistake twice._

_“Your gift is very thoughtful, Ed. Thank you, but I should probably be going. I…”_

_He shakes his head at the sensation of Ed’s hand on his forearm._

_“Ed, w-what are you doing?”_

_Penguin watches in stunned silence as Ed guides his hand to his chest._

_“Finally listening to **this**.” _

_Oswald quietly gasps and quivers when the man’s other hand touches his face, scarcely able to fathom what’s happening even after Ed’s mouth finally reaches his._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Victor, am I right? _*shakes head*_ I mean, yes. Poor Oswald too, _obvi_ , but I don't think cool and casual Mr. Zsasz ever thought he'd lose his sh!t in such spectacular fashion. I wanted Victor to fall prey to his own attachment/possessiveness/jealousy and to be shocked to discover that Penguin’s harm comes by way of _his_ hand. I feel a large portion of Zsasz’s ego/identity is tied up in how safe he keeps his bosses. His transgression in this chapter is already egregious, but even more so because Penguin literally trusts Victor with his life.
> 
> Ah, yes: “Dirty Dick Gordon”? I _wish_ I could take credit for that perfect monicker, but it's the brainchild of my lovely fanfic spouse’s “real life” spouse. I couldn’t resist putting it in here! 
> 
> Zsasz's love of pirates? I read a tumblr/ao3 fic who wrote Zsasz showing up on Jim's doorstep dressed like a pirate on Halloween while he was out trick or treating. He says something like, "I'm not breaking any laws, Jim." *Jess giggles just thinking about it* If any of you know the fic or author, _please_ tell me so I can link it in here! 😘 *I’m sure Zsasz's pirates and Jolly Roger love is in no way influenced by your humble author's pirate/Jolly Roger appreciation or the fact she recently drank out of her fanfic wifey's cute pirate mug or the fact Anthony Carrigan’s first role as a kid was playing a pirate.*
> 
> Back to Jimbo. I figured after a decade, he might have _finally_ grown up and taken stock of his life. I can say from personal experience: years, distance and perspective can mature a person, but _nothing_ matured or gave me greater perspective than my son who (by the age of nine) began asking very tough questions about his father. His questions forced me to work hard and answer truthfully in the gentlest way possible. Oh and uh... that "light and dark" convo? It was something I wanted to include but wasn't too sure about. However, after a recent convo with the incredible ifnot_winter, I knew I had to. (I love you, sistah.)
> 
> Bits of Os and Ed’s convo paraphrase Albert Camus in L'Homme révolté (The Rebel). I did my own research and most def do not claim any expertise in this area. If anyone out there has any, feel free to set me straight—but not hetero. (I now happily embrace my queerness after decades, yes, _decades_ , of struggling with it.) 
> 
> The music for this chapter? I know. It’s kinda all over the place.
> 
> Well, Nuages is the first of Claude Debussy’s “Trois Nocturnes”. Check it if you haven’t heard it. It absolutely blew my mind when I first heard it my freshman year of college when I studied bassoon performance before switching to cultural anthropology. 
> 
> NIN’s “Piggy” and the Psychedelic Furs’ “Love My Way” were the big inspiration of this chapter. This Gen-Xer is terribly sentimental about punk, new wave, post punk. I was also half-decent bassist back in the day so I’m a _real sucker_ for a great bass line. (I think the movie, “Call Me By My Name”, may have re-popularized the Psychedelic Furs’ ‘80s classic. I read a great article in “Out” mag about one of the movie’s creators who apparently loves that song for the same reasons I do. I think it was a bit of a coming of age song for _both_ of us.)
> 
> Mmm... and that closing “finally listening to 'this'” line from Ed? I uh... saw that trailer for the next ep (5x11) with Os droppin’ some truth on Ed and ran with it. (Hope it didn’t make you throw up in your mouth or anything, FC! 😉)
> 
> Yeah. Okay. I know. It's long past time for me to shut up. (You should see me irl! Poor FC graciously put up with me irl for days not long ago! :3) Thanks so much to all y'all sticking it out with me. Y’all are all so lovely!
> 
> }8> Jess


	8. Hurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor, Oswald and Jim think back on the fall of Pax Penguina. 
> 
> Edward prepares to set his plan in motion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“I wear this crown of shit_   
>  _Upon my liar's chair_   
>  _Full of broken thoughts_   
>  _I cannot repair._   
>    
>  _Beneath the stains of time_   
>  _The feelings disappear._   
>  _You are someone else_   
>  _I am still right here._   
>    
>  _What have I become_   
>  _My sweetest friend?_   
>  _Everyone I know_   
>  _Goes away in the end._   
>    
>  _And you could have it all._   
>  _My empire of dirt._   
>  _I will let you down._   
>  _I will make you hurt._   
>  [ _—lyrics to NIN’s “Hurt”_ ](https://youtu.be/kPz21cDK7dg)   
>    
>  _“I'm tired of weeping and yet there's no sign of the sun_   
>  _I no longer know whether to curse you or pray for you_   
>  _I'm afraid to look for you and afraid to find you…._   
>  _At times I feel like relinquishing the fight_   
>  _And ripping out the claws that cause my pain_   
>  _But my eyes are dying without looking into yours…._   
>    
>  _Black dove, black dove where are you?_   
>  _Stop playing with my honor, party girl_   
>  _Your caresses must be mine, and no one else's_   
>  _And though I love you madly, don't come back to me_   
>  _Black dove, you're the bars on this cage of suffering…._   
>    
>  _Lord, give me strength for I'm dying to go find her…._   
>  [ _—Translated lyrics to “Paloma Negra” (Black Dove) by Tomás Méndez_ ](https://youtu.be/OanOkaXRvoM)   
> 

— 卌 —

Victor returns home in the wee hours of the morning, still mulling over his chance encounter with Martín. On one hand, he’s relieved to know the kid did well for himself, making it all the way to Coast City with a full ride for his undergrad in mathematics. Still (despite the years), it was all he could do to look Martín in the eye—especially after the ~~kid~~ young man tried returning his blade.

Zsasz gave Martín a training karambit not long before taking him out of Gotham. The boy regularly eyed the one he always carried after Penguin showed him his stiletto at the orphanage. Victor had plans to train the boy, but Sofia forced their hand before he could. Zsasz left him at the safest place he knew: with Saffronia and Egypt’s mother and aunt Chloe, who lived upstate.

—

_Zsasz places a leathered hand on the kid’s shoulder and kneels before him. He can see the boy worrying his training blade with a thumb. Victor nods toward it._

_“No forgetting what I taught you. Not everyone can handle one of those. You gotta_ **_earn_ ** _the privilege. That means practice._ **_Lots_ ** _of it.”_

_Martín nods. Zsasz presses his lips together and narrows his gaze at the kid, his voice solemn._

_“Same house rules apply here at Big Momma and Auntie’s. Homework and chores before practice. They keep your trainer and help you practice just like me and the twins. They’ll help you with your grips, transitions and extensions. Your hand switches too. You need lotsa hand and forearm strength before you can use the real thing. You gotta_ **_lotta_ ** _work to do ‘til then.”_

_Victor pulls out his karambit._

_“_ ** _This_ ** _one?”_

_He puffs out a snort and shakes his head._

_“I just wanted it ‘cause I’d never seen anything like it. I’d already handled a whole lotta other knives and didn’t think I had anything to learn. I was wrong. I didn’t respect the blade. I got careless.”_

_Zsasz suddenly remembers how he fucked up with Penguin. He peers down at the blade for a long moment and quiets his voice to almost a whisper._

_“Don’t mess up like I did.”_

_He swallows and shakes his head._

_“I dunno when I’ll be back for you. ’Til then, mind your manners. Listen to Big Momma and Auntie. Do as they say. They’re real smart ladies.”_

_The kid thoughtfully nods, doing his best to appear strong._

_Victor glances up at the four women with faded buzz cuts. Like mother and aunt, Saffronia is as fair as Egypt is dark. He returns his gaze to Martín’s large and watchful hazel eyes before solemnly placing his folded karambit in the boy’s hand._

_“This blade taught me a lot. It’s my favorite. I need you to keep it safe for me ‘til I come back for you.”_

_Victor closes the boy’s hand around it and peers up into his wide, wet eyes._

_“Can ya do that for me?”_

—

Zsasz rubs down his mouth when he remembers the kid slamming into him for a long, tight embrace. It was the last time he saw Martín before seeing him outside of Bessie’s.

He dismounts his Octane and walks up to his place. Xoc’s pacing outside taking a long drag from her cigarette—practically _eating_ the filter. The moment she sees him, she drops her stogy and snuffs it out.

Victor inhales a slow, wary breath, retracting his facial muscles as he approaches. He slowly shakes his head and addresses her with a low, wary voice.

“Don’t tell me they’re balkin’ at the price.”

The wiry, androgynous woman folds her hands behind her tattooed and mohawked head with blue tips. Zsasz can now see she got her ink touched up.

“No, güerito. Nothin’ like that. They paid in full. Fuck. They’re even talkin’ about another job already.”

“So what gives?”

She looks upward and puffs out a huge sigh, glancing inside.

“It’s Yaotl. She’s drinkin’ and listenin’ to Chavela Vargas. Her friends have been textin’ her about everything Nubia’s been doin’ these days. And _everyone._ ”

She shakes her head with annoyance.

 _“¡_ ** _Pinches_ ** _cabronas!”_

Victor grits his teeth. Everyone missed Nubia but they were grateful she left on her own before forcing his hand. She was always the life of the party and a great time, but her carousing and cavorting around began affecting her work. Yaotl was thoroughly smitten with her. She picked up Nubia’s slack—even covering for the woman until the twins were almost killed because she showed up to a job fucked up.

Yaotl took it hard when Nubia left—even harder when she refused to see her and began ignoring her calls and texts. Yaotl usually kept a stiff upper lip, but apparently not tonight. Victor’s voice grows concerned.

“Please tell me she’s not drinkin’ the cheap shit.”

“No. Gracias a Dios. The Clase Azul Reposado.”

He nods and puffs out a relieved sigh.

“Alright. I’ll handle it.”

Zsasz takes a determined breath before heading inside and making the long walk down the corridor to their lounge. His shapely, honey beige sharp-shooter places the white and blue hand-painted bottle onto the coffee table with an indelicate bang. Yaotl vacantly stares in the distance, listening to a ranchera’s doleful lyrics as she takes a few long swallows from her glass.

 _Ya me canso de llorar y no amanece_  
_Ya no sé si maldecirte o por ti rezar_  
_Tengo miedo de buscarte y de encontrarte…_

Victor joins Yaotl on their leather sofa. Her Miquiliztli neck and jaguar arm tattoos are prominently visible thanks to her black tank top. He gently slips her felled black bra strap back onto her shoulder and tucks her long straight hair behind her ear. His brow crinkles at the sight of her painstakingly applied eyeliner and mascara ruined with tears.

 _Hay momentos en que quisiera mejor rajarme_  
_Arrancarme ya los clavos de mi penar_  
_Pero mis ojos se mueren sin mirar tus ojos…._

The moment they lock eyes, her face crumples. After he wraps an arm around her, she buries her face in his neck and sobs into it. 

_Paloma negra, paloma negra ¿dónde, dónde andarás?_

He presses a long kiss on the top of her head and pulls her closer, reassuring her with a whisper.

“Hey. I got you.” 

 _Ya no jueges con mi honra parrandera_  
_Si tus caricias han de ser mías, de nadie más_  
_Y aunque te amo con locura ya no vuelva_  
_Paloma negra eres la reja de un penar…._

_Díos dame fuerza que me estoy muriendo por irla a buscar…._

The woman shakes her head, takes a huge sniff and pulls back, wiping her face and furiously blinking her bloodshot eyes. Her voice is tremulous.

“Why can’t I be like you, Victor? _Nothing_ ever gets to you. _No_ one.”

Her voice breaks.

“I can’t believe I fell for her. I’m such a fucking idiot.”

Victor holds her face in his hand.

“You’re not a fucking idiot, Yaotl.”

He crinkles his brow and strokes her cheek with his thumb.

“It happens.”

The woman curtly sniffs and shakes her head, struggling to toughen up.

“Not to _you,_ it doesn’t.”

Victor immediately thinks of Penguin and Martín’s question at the diner.

**_Why didn’t you come back for me?_ **

He blinks and tries to school his face. After swallowing and briefly glancing away, he notices the twins silently watching on.

—

_Victor doesn’t remember how he got to the Falcone mansion but, before he realizes it, he’s turning off his Imperial and vacantly staring up at it._

_Zsasz can’t stop picturing Don Falcone in that box, brow crinkling as he recalls ejecting a final round for Gotham’s legendary mob boss: the man who helped develop him and gave him purpose. The man who made him fully realize his potential._

“You woulda told me right? If you were gonna ice the old man.”

“Obviously! Victor, I did not kill Don Falcone.”

“Well everyone on the street thinks you did.”

“So let ‘em. My hands are clean. You have my word!”

_Zsasz can’t help but think of his bubbe’s admonition._

"If his word were a bridge, I'd be afraid to cross it.”

_: : :_

_Before arriving at the Falcone mansion, Zsasz spent most of his afternoon and evening aimlessly driving around the city, tormenting himself with what he did to Penguin at the club. He can still see the kingpin hobbling up and talking down to him like he was a fucking idiot, practically_ **_daring_ ** _him to turn on him._

“Victor, when this is said and done, you and I need to have a frank discussion about chain of command…. But now, go do something **horrific**!”

 _Never one to shirk an order, that’s_ **_exactly_ ** _what Zsasz did. He didn’t have to wait long either. When Gordon unexpectedly arrived to charge Oswald for Martín’s murder, Victor couldn’t stop picturing Don Falcone in that fucking box or stop fixating on the endless street chatter while the kingpin scoffed at the charges._

“He’s not dead. I only faked his death so Sofia Falcone couldn’t use him against me. She’s the one who told you I killed him, isn’t she?”

_As the detective questioned the kingpin about Martín’s whereabouts, Victor realized he was the only one (besides the twins) who knew the kid’s location. He also knew there was no way he and his team could possibly compete with the entire GCPD. It was over._

“I—I don’t know. Victor took him out of Gotham. Tell him.”

_If Penguin wasn’t going to answer for Don Falcone’s death, Zsasz would make sure he answered for another._

“What’s to tell? You blew that kid sky high.”

“What?”

“You sent that pipsqueak to kingdom come.”

“No. That’s not true.”

“And I’ll testify to that.”

“What?!”

“Look, I ain’t takin’ the rap for no kid murder.”

 _“_ No! I will kill you! You’re a lying traitor…”

_Victor could scarcely believe what he’d just done. He watched with a mixture of guilt, shame, shock and disbelief as the GCPD dragged Penguin away, face burning with the harsh truth of the words Oswald spewed at him._

_Zsasz stood there for the longest, vacantly blinking before realizing that Oswald’s men were staring at him with total disbelief and disdain. He left the club immediately after. It took him awhile before he realized he hadn’t told his men it was over. He had the twins do it for him. Egypt’s voice was grave when he informed her they were no longer working for Penguin._

“Zsasz…?”

“Just _do_ it.”

“Of course. Uh… Victor? What about… _the kid?_ ”

“I don’t know yet.”

_: : :_

_Zsasz finally exits his Chrysler and climbs the stairs to the mansion entrance. Sofia’s men are opening the door for him as if they’d been expecting him even though he never called. He never said a fucking word._

_He walks the halls of the mansion on autopilot, his body propelling him to the study without thought. He watches on as if he’s a spectator to everything happening with no control over the events._

_It’s difficult to say what’s hardest for Victor about returning: the fact Don Falcone’s gone or the fact the old man might still be living out his final days if he’d just followed him down south, rather than staying in his hometown after the city fell to Penguin—but there was no going back now._

_Victor had sealed his fate._

**_All_ ** _their fates._

_He steels himself before entering the study to face the Donna, her father’s favorite spot to sit when he needed to think. As he passes the threshold, Sofia sits with the Sirens in attendance. She’s still in the same clothes she wore to the funeral._

_Her quiet dignity is painfully reminiscent of her father’s._

_Her red gloves on the table at her side are painfully reminiscent of Penguin’s._

_“Victor. I was hoping you’d return home. During difficult times like these, it’s important that we turn to those who are most important: family.”_

_He ignores the pangs in his chest and gut as he discloses Penguin’s machinations, up to and including Martín’s location. What he didn’t bargain for was the twist in his gut when she gives him his first assignment: arranging for Martín to be delivered to her men who’ll manage his care._

_“So I assume Gordon doesn’t know the kid’s actually alive.”_

_“Jim Gordon played his part. He showed the underworld that Penguin was weak.”_

_The taste in Victor’s mouth grows bitter._

_“That he did. End of the day, he’s a Cobblepot. You’re a Falcone.”_

_Despite Zsasz’s certainty Oswald should pay for the old man’s death, his mouth goes dry as he drops to a knee to kiss the ring and pledge his fealty._

_—_

_The days that follow are… easier._

_A little_ **_too_ ** _easy._

_Victor has entirely too much time to think._

_Penguin’s back in Arkham and Sofia has Gotham all wrapped up with a big, pretty bow. Everything’s nice and neat. And quiet. Really fucking quiet. No big plans. No new designs or schemes. No angling for a bigger piece of the action because she owns every single bit of it: from the big time corporate fraud in uptown to the smallest street hustle in the Narrows. The Falcone dynasty is re-established. Order is restored—all at the hands of The Don’s youngest (with the aid of_ **_Captain_ ** _Jim Gordon)._

_Before Falcone’s untimely death, Victor never dreamed Sofia would own the town or that he’d be at her side, especially given how firmly Penguin had the metropolis in his grip when she first arrived. Years ago, when Victor first met Falcone’s daughter, he was struck by the two commonalities they shared: their relative youth and how little everyone thought of them._

_Don Falcone was nothing but respectful to Victor but the man’s larger family thought little of him. Though Zsasz had a great head for business like his late father (who’d done business with many of them), most of the mafioso viewed him as little more than the Don’s attack dog: the man who broke, ended and disappeared people. The family’s highest hopes for Sofia involved marrying her off to a good family for political reasons and to strengthen their own._

_He and Sofia and were two outsiders in a family of insiders._

_Sofia was Falcone’s youngest—and a woman._

_Victor wasn’t Italian—but a Jew._

_—_

_Sofia’s furious when she discovers Martín’s missing and finally makes kill orders Penguin._

_“How is Martín gone? Never mind. Penguin is coming. Go to Arkham and kill him. Now…. Just make sure Penguin dies choking on his own blood.”_

_Zsasz prepares himself to look into Oswald’s pale green eyes and extinguish the light from them. He’s ready too. Ready to end Penguin—not just because it’s his job, but because he wants to kill the one man who made him_ **_feel_** _. The one man who made him_ **_want_** _. Made him_ **_ache_** _. Made things…_ **_personal_** _._

_Despite Zsasz’s best laid plans, Lee absconds with Oswald during a firefight with Gordon and Bullock—only to be delivered right to Sofia, courtesy of Freeze while the Dentist had his way with Nygma._

_“I’m not even gonna ask.”_

_By the time he and Wendell arrive with Sofia at the Spa Bo’sh Sumka, things are looking up. Wendy plugs Jim, but they lose Penn and the GCPD arrives. After he and Wendy return from their impromptu break, they find Sofia’s corpse with a slug in her back and another in her forehead._

_It’s at that moment Zsasz swears he’ll never work for another boss again._

 

—>o<—

After a restless night, Oswald wakes early the day before his big bash. Despite knowing Ed’s not in his bed, he still hopes to find him in it.

_Perhaps he snuck in after I drifted off._

Nothing.

He waits and listens for Ed’s humming or thinking out loud in the bathroom.

Still nothing.

Oswald rubs his eyes and reaches for his phone on the nightstand. He opens and holds it to his good eye. He frowns at the last unanswered text he sent his partner. 

 _My tux is ready._  
_Off to the haberdasher after._  
_Are you free?_  

The kingpin puffs out a defeated sigh. It’s hours earlier than when he normally rises but he’s given up any hopes of sleep after his restless night. He groans when he hoists himself out of bed and grumbles at the omnipresent ache in his right knee and lower leg.

Penguin takes longer than normal to pick out his suit and accessories. He regularly catches himself vacantly staring off into space, plagued by nagging concerns over Edward’s whereabouts and whatever grand scheme he might be up to. If he’s not distracted with that, there’s the loss of his father’s estate and Detective Alvarez’s warning. He also cannot get that woman’s photo out of his head or the way she looked: long black hair parted in the middle with full lips. Something about her is unsettlingly familiar and it gnaws at him.

Oswald arrives downstairs and finds his assistant in the parlor. The young man’s clearly charmed by the painful (but well-loved) reminder of the kingpin’s past: a photo of him and Martín with matching outfits and hairstyles. Mr. Penn snapped their photo on the night of orphanage’s fundraiser.

Richard turns with his hands clasped together in front of him. The young man clears his throat and pushes up his glasses (so reminiscent of Edward back _then_ , before all the ugliness between them).

“Oh. Good morning, Mr. Cobblepot. I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting you so early.”

He nods and smiles towards the old photo.

“I couldn't help but admire your photograph. Of you and the boy? You’re both so dapper.” He clears his throat. “If you don’t mind me saying so, he looks a bit like Mr. Nygma. I hope I’m not being too forward but, but may I ask who he is?”

Penguin swallows.

_How do I answer that?_

_Martín. My co-conspirator. The orphan I enlisted to spy on Sofia. The boy I endangered and probably set in Pyg’s sights at that fundraiser. The boy Sofia used as a bargaining chip against me because she knew he’d stolen my heart before I did._

_The boy I trusted with no one else but my top man to keep safe._

_The boy Victor used to betray me._

_The boy Edward saved for me and whom I had sent away without knowing his whereabouts so that I could never,_ **_ever_ ** _endanger his life again._

_— >o<— _

_Penguin works hard to project fearlessness as he’s locked up with the riffraff after Zsasz’s betrayal. It was by no means his first time in holding, but after Pax Penguina, there’d be no shortage of cops or thugs who’d jump at a chance for some notoriety by claiming a piece of the Penguin._

_Oswald manages to make it out of processing unscathed, but the worst is yet to come. He shuts his eyes with resignation when the bus stops at Arkham's imposing black gates._

_Despite swearing he’d never return to the hellhole, here he is, struggling to ignore the rising dread clawing at him—ushered by the sounds of the shouting inmates, abusive guards, loud buzzers and slamming bars after entering the facility._

_He works to combat the color and heat rising in his face when he’s led in handcuffs and leg shackles to receive his stripes. No more luxuriant fabrics, furnishings, food or fragrances. He’s back to the scratch of tattered asylum garb and cheap canvas shoes, the lumps of barely tolerable mattresses and unforgiving steel; to “food” that is little more than gruel—all blanketed in the infernal stench of desperation, insanity, sebum and sour, drug-tinged sweat._

_“Traitors! Every single one of them! I will_ **_kill_ ** _her! I will flay her alive! Her and Gordon and Zsasz and—.”_

_A raspy, singsong baritone interrupts his tirade._

_“Hey, buddy!”_

_“Do not talk to me! You—.”_

_“I get it, pal. This place is full of loonies. I just thought we could help each other out.”_

_Penguin scoffs._

_“And how can_ **_you_ ** _help me?”_

_“Well. Not to toot my own horn, but I’m a very resourceful fellow, so toot. Toot toot.”_

_Penguin gasps after recognizing the man’s maniacal laughter._

_“What do you say, pal? I’ll be your best friend. Gimme a smile!”_

_—_

_Oswald knew another stint in Arkham would be hell (especially knowing he had no chance of escape without risking_ _Martín’s safety). However,_ _things are even worse than last time. Not even Strange’s mental torture could compete with Jerome Valeska’s or the man’s zealous followers._

 _“Make him laugh!_  
_Make him laugh!_  
_Make him laugh!”_

_It’s hard keeping a stiff upper lip. Penguin tries distancing himself from the lunatic’s cajoling and harassment, but there’s no respite from the man’s torment. The guards allow the madman to come and go as he pleases—up to and including his cell. Jerome crowds Oswald and goads him with that unsettlingly large, exaggerated smile carved into his face and eyes so wide their whites are visible all the way around._

_When Valeska’s not doing that, he’s endlessly muttering and prattling on about Bruce Wayne (usually accompanied by his hellishly lengthy and theatrical faps)._

_Even the occasionally quiet and uneventful nights are hard because Oswald can’t escape the hell of his own mind. He habitually thinks back on everyone responsible for his imprisonment: Sofia, Jim and Victor._ **_Especially Victor._ ** _It’s_ **_Zsasz’s_ ** _betrayal that’s most painful, striking him at his core. Even after the unfortunate ugliness between them, Oswald never once questioned the man’s allegiance._

 _He knew Victor for years—back in the days when he was still Fish’s umbrella boy. Even_ **_then_** _, Victor was constant and steadfast in an underworld rife with schemers, swindlers and backstabbers. When Victor served a boss or gave his word, it was as good as the money in the Waynes’ rich coffers._

_Zsasz could always be relied upon. He always came when called. He never shrank from a fight. He happily and enthusiastically carried out any and every order—even if the order was abandon or reverse the previous order._

_Oswald knew Zsasz was many,_ **_many_ ** _things, but the one thing Penguin never imagined he’d **ever** be was disloyal. _

_: : :_

_Things were never the same after that fateful afternoon in Victor’s quarters. Oswald and Victor never broached the subject and restricted all subsequent exchanges to matters of business._

_Victor reverted back to his detached professionalism, very similar to the way he behaved with Don Falcone. Neither man made excuses to spend time alone together. If anything, they regularly avoided the other’s company. By that point, Zsasz usually left Penguin in the care of his men unless Oswald specifically asked for him to be present. Victor even took the  opportunity to visit his bubbe. Penguin was more than happy to oblige him._

_Although Penguin knew it was for the best, he occasionally searched for any tell that might reveal Victor’s feelings about his dereliction but, true to form, the hitman’s impassive countenance revealed nothing. Zsasz’s only tells were limited to the moments immediately following his transgression._

_. . ._

_Oswald watched Zsasz’s dawning horror when he finally realized his combat knife was at his neck. Victor then shook his head and blinked in shock at the wrecked waistcoat. The hitman immediately unwound the tie in his hand and sheathed his knife. He swallowed and abruptly pulled out, contritely casting those dark eyes downward and looking away in shame as he maneuvered Oswald’s legs back to the bed and quickly dismounted him._

_Victor not only turned his back while Oswald did his best to make himself presentable, he actually left the room. Despite Zsasz’s best efforts to hide his face, the color in his neck and ears was painfully obvious. Back then, Oswald’s indignance and outrage blinded him to the fact that, in all the years he’d known Victor, he’d never,_ **_ever_ ** _seen the man embarrassed or abashed. Before that fateful day, Victor Zsasz was unyielding and unapologetic—_ ** _arrogant even_** _._

_. . ._

_The damage, however, was done—or so Oswald thought. He worked hard to ignore the incident and push past it. Just as he and Victor began settling into their new rhythm, everything else began unraveling. Sofia finally showed her true face after he confronted her about her plot with Gordon to take him down._

_“Bravo, Oswald. Do you know, I was warned you were a mastermind? Turns out you’re an easy mark. It is truly amazing what you can accomplish with goulash and a good foot rub.”_

_He and Victor narrowly saved Martín from the woman, only for Victor to abandon him when Oswald needed him most—and why he wound up in GCPD custody. This time, however, no one one would be springing him. His power base had finally crumbled. The one man Oswald thought would never leave his side had abandoned him._

_All that was bad enough, but watching everyone in that bullpen applaud and laud Jim as some great hero was too much to bear: the man for whom he’d done time. The man for whom he’d done thankless favor after favor. The man with the squeaky clean image who bedded a mafia boss’ daughter to clinch his precious title and “save” Gotham. The man who (with the aid of Sofia and Victor’s treachery) managed to doom him to a sentence for a crime he did not commit._

**_Again._ **

_: : :_

_By the time Arkham and Valeska have almost extinguished the last of Oswald’s hope, a guard informs him he has a visitor._

_And the visitor is a nincompoop._

_“Hello, Oswald. I see Arkham’s treating you well.”_

_“I take it you are here to gloat.”_

_“You are correct!”_

_“No. I know you. There’s something else going on. Something else brought you here.... Ed. I’m going to be out of here soon. And once I am, I am going to wipe that smile off your face. Preferably, with a chainsaw.”_

_“How? How are you going to do that? You have no friends. No one to help you escape. You are utterly alone. Goodbye, Oswald.”_

_Sorry, I don’t put too much stock in the opinions of simpletons!”_

_After Oswald shrieks at the exiting idiot, he finds and unfolds the origami Penguin Edward left on the table._

_“You’re still in there. That’s why you came. You’re still there. And you’re gonna help me find a way out of here.”_

 

—>j<—

Jim hollers for his daughter from the kitchen. Despite _years_ of practice (and Lee’s containers of pre-cut and portioned-out food she prepares for the days when he’s responsible for meals), the commissioner _still_ can’t figure out she makes breakfast look so effortless—without making a _single_ mess. He empties the plastic containers of sliced fruit onto their plates and wrangles a few errant blueberries.

 _God, what I wouldn't_ **_give_ ** _for one of Dion’s artery-clogging breakfast sandwiches with Harv._

He wipes the rings of spilt juice and joe from the counter and shouts a second time.

“Barbara Lee Gordon. Get in here. Your breakfast is ready.”

The girl walks into the kitchen. Her shiner’s even darker than the day prior. She reaches to pull out her chair from the kitchen table with her lips pressed together.

“Am I in trouble again?”

He blinks and slowly shakes his head, his tone wary.

“Depends. Is there _something else_ I don’t know about?”

“No, sir. You just called me ‘Barbara Lee’. You only do that when you’re mad at me.”

He walks over to his daughter and sets down their plates.

“No, Barbara. You’re not in trouble and I’m not mad.”

“Okay. ‘ _Disappointed_ ’ then? ‘Cause I got sent home for fighting and you're the police commissioner?”

“Barbara, I’m not disappointed with you.”

“Really?”

“Yes, Barbara. _Really._ But I _do_ have a question for you. Do you think you were right to fight that boy?”

“Well, _yeah_. He was talking about my _real_ mom being crazy. And about her being _dead_.”

Jim thinks back to the whispers and awkward silences when he returned to school after the car wreck that killed his father but not him. He thoughtfully strokes his moustache, takes a seat and reaches for her. His face and voice grow solemn.

“I get it. _Believe_ me. Lotsa kids talked about me after my dad died. It made me angry. _Really_ angry. Remember me telling you I got into fights, too?”

He looks down at her large, watchful eyes.

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s when they started. Look, sweetheart. Are there times when you need to fight? Absolutely. But when you do, you have to be _really smart_ about it. It shouldn't be an impulse or an involuntary reaction.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know when your mom Lee checks your reflexes—on your knee? To make sure they’re working right? How she taps it just right and your leg just kicks by itself?”

“Yeah.”

“Like _that_. Not every problem can or should be solved with fighting. It should only be a last resort—not a reflex. That’s the thing about fighting. It’s hard to resist and it feels good—especially when you think you’re right. When you feel _justified_ to fight, it makes you feel _stronger,_ even _better_ than the other person—especially when you win. Sometimes, the other person feels justified to get you back or just to prove themselves, even more so if they lost to you before. Does that makes sense?”

His daughter’s pigtails swing when she nods. Jim puffs out a sigh.

“And sometimes, Barbara?  _Sometimes_ fighting (even when you think it’s the right thing to do) has consequences you never intended. Sometimes those consequences are far worse than the person or the thing you were trying to fight in the first place.”

—

_Despite the GCPD’s victory against Penguin (who’s now in holding, charged with the boy’s murder), Jim can’t help but feel like a sham. The success was only possible with the aid of Sofia Falcone’s information and the authority of his new position (that she leveraged for him). He had to get out from under the woman._

_Later that night, he meets with Sofia to ask that she not to unify the gangs or take charge of Gotham’s underworld only to learn the horrible truth that she was the one responsible for bringing Pyg to Gotham._

_“It was you.”_

_Jim can’t listen to that infernal psychopathic braggart reveal one more detail of their sick scheme. Gordon grabs Lazlo’s pistol, headbutts him and proceeds to beat him bloody. Only after hearing the gunblast and watching the sicko’s body fall the ground, does Jim snap out of his bloodlust. He turns to find Sofia standing._

_“It’s done now.”_

_She defiantly removes her neck brace and tosses it to the floor._

_“How many cops died under the Pax Penguina? Not_ **_one_** _. It was_ **_you_ ** _who couldn’t stomach it. It was_ **_you_ ** _who came to the Falcones for help. There is a direct line from your decision to a dozen police officers who have been brutally murdered.”_

_Jim wants to vomit as the woman elaborates._

_“You wanna arrest me? Arrest me. But I will talk. And the cops that died? The friend that you betrayed? Will all have been for nothing. The GCPD will crumble. Penguin, or someone worse, will take over and you will lose Gotham forever, or… take on the sin as your own. Keep the GCPD. Let them think you’re a hero, but live knowing who you are and what you’ve done. That is my revenge.”_

_She grabs his phone and calls the GCPD. He takes the phone from her hand and watches her casually, smugly take a seat._

_“This is Gordon. I’m at Sofia Falcone’s. I just shot and killed the Pyg.”_

_—_

_Jim’s plagued with guilt while he gives his statement and Sofia smirks in the background. He watches forensics handle the crime scene and the M.E. take the Pyg’s body away. All the while, his hypocrisy for judging and condemning his best friend’s actions while he served as acting captain eats away at him._

_Jim thinks of the hell he gave Harvey for accepting Penguin’s payday and for his partner’s inability to face their own after Pyg set ’em up and he shot Patel. Each and every last one of those actions, as well as the murder of dozens of people—including their brethren, were all set in motion because of_ **_him_** _._

_Gordon’s at his lowest when he returns to the precinct. He looks up to find Bullock leaving his office._

_“Harvey.”_

_“I was just uh… dropping something off.”_

_Right before his partner leaves, the man turns around._

_“Oh. I uh… I heard you got the Pyg. And Penguin.”_

_“Yeah.”_

_“So everything turned out well. You didn’t even need me.”_

_“You gotta second? Could we uh…?”_

_Harvey shakes his head._

_“They uh… they believe in you. Don’t let ‘em down.”_

_Jim couldn’t have felt more hopeless or alone when Harvey walked away—at least until he saw Harvey’s abandoned service pistol and badge on his desk._

 

— ¿? —

Edward spends most of the day hustling to coordinate supply delivery and shipments around Gotham. He follows up on the first two delivery trucks and their contents, first with Hattey and his crew, then with Ivy and Harley.

Harley’s practically giddy, popping her gum and draping her forearms over the baseball bat she's balancing behind her head, across the shoulders. Ivy does her best to look annoyed; however, can’t help but smile at her favorite prankster’s excitement.

After leaving the women, Edward heads north to accompany the remaining delivery trucks and personally ensure their cargo safely arrives in the hands of Victor Fries.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a real challenge for me to put together. Adding Jim (and little Barbara Lee) really complicated things. Ohy! And Martín. My decision to add him on a whim added some stress I hadn’t bargained for. I’d forgotten how much everyone loved and missed that adorable murder baby. I can’t believe people wanted to know what happened to him.
> 
> _*Jess nervously glances from side to side ‘cause she hadn’t thought to provide any background on him*_
> 
> Mmm… the music? Well, NIN’s “Hurt” was the song that got the ball rollin’ but it was “Paloma Negra” that helped me get unstuck and back into Victor’s head. His POV (surprisingly) was the hardest for me to construct. I really don’t listen to very much Mexican music, but this song is so angsty… and Chavela Vargas! (That gender-bending lesbiana sang songs traditionally sung by men and even dressed like a man herself. She was one of Frida Kahlo’s lovers. And f*cking Frida Kahlo! Don’t _even_ get me started on that woman! She’s one of my personal heroes!)
> 
> Special shout out to Filthycasual, ifnot_winter, A_Cautionary_Tale and TheFierceBeast for your kind encouragement and for talking me down after the comments for this fic dried up. Vivo: thank you especially for helping me get bridge the gap between chapters seven and nine. Please kiss ta-Qui-to for aunty Jess.
> 
> That’s all I got. Y’all know the drill. Holler at me if you catch errors. I’m just gonna post this baby without painstakingly combing through it like I normally do. Goodness gracious y’all have waited long enough. 
> 
> I love you, FC. I’m one chapter closer to returning to your lovely fanfic arms. I’m getting serious fanfic baby fever. :3


	9. Success

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Penguin kicks off his Ten Post Zero celebration at the Iceberg Lounge. 
> 
> Edward begins setting his plans into motion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“Dreams of long life,_   
>  _What safety can you find?_   
>  _See the great unknown_   
>  _That shape for miles_   
>    
>  _Good eye_   
>  _I'm a good guy…._   
>    
>  _As high as the day_   
>  _I read the papers_   
>  _Before crime would pay_   
>  _I learned to bury most beliefs_   
>    
>  _I have succeeded_   
>  _I won't compete for long_   
>  _I'm not not supposed to show you_   
>  _I've got two secrets_   
>  _But I only told you one... ”_   
>  [ _—lyrics to “Success” (Interpol)_ ](https://open.spotify.com/album/1pmgXI0bQMvETmuFUQjHvT?si=HI3SzOHmTYW_VOEWFzZoEQ)   
> 

—>o<—

The big night has finally arrived. Oswald fastens his gold and iolite cufflinks. His brow crinkles at the signs of age: the creeping grey, the frown lines and the loss of elasticity in his skin—far more visible in his neck than anyplace else. His face pinches at she sight of his jowls as he straightens his tie.

He smooths down his waistcoat and scrupulously examines himself in his full-length mirror. Penguin tries puffing out his chest, frowning when he realizes it only makes his double chin more prominent. He opts for sucking in his gut but soon deflates at the sight of his midsection extending past his chest.

_Just own it. Ed doesn’t mind._

He takes another glance at his phone in hopes of hearing from his absent partner before heading to the club.

Still nothing.  

He thinks back to Edward’s outrage after they risked their lives to fight for their embattled home during Zero, only to be snubbed and forgotten as soon as the battle was won.

 _“I don’t want their thanks. Or their respect. You know what I felt, standing shoulder to shoulder with those people out there? Nothing. I feel absolutely nothing for those drab, boring people. That was me once. Minimum wage at a thankless job at the GCPD. ‘Yes, sir.’ ‘No, sir.’ ‘Thank you so much, sir.’ Picking up scraps from my master’s floor. ‘Shy, awkward,_ **_pathetic_ ** _Ed.’ Common criminals? Never again. I’ve shown this city who I truly am once before and I will do it again. They will_ **_bow_ ** _to the Riddler and they won’t get up until I permit them to.”_

Penguin puffs out a sardonic laugh wondering what Ed has in store for Gotham tonight. He hobbles over to the mahogany box on his dresser and considers the old Arkham visitor’s badge that he found the other day. He fingers and takes a long look at it, soon pressing his eyes and lips together with resignation.

_He’s not coming._

Oswald sniffs and blinks his stinging eyes. He takes the old badge and opens a drawer to tuck it away with the few other keepsakes he’s managed to keep over the years.

He smiles and fingers his mother’s treasured brooch and thinks of her—the one person who loved and stood beside him without question. The one person he could _always_ count on. As he tucks away the old badge and brooch, he finds a long-forgotten aubergine kerchief with mauve and gold accents.

He quietly gasps and raises a hand to his mouth. His already stinging eyes begin blurring as he slowly traces the pattern with his fingerpads. Though Oswald knows the scent is long gone, he still lifts it to his nose, closes his eyes and inhales.

_—_

_Oswald slightly startles and blinks, rousing from slumber to find Victor gathering his clothes off the floor. Penguin suddenly grows self-conscious with the awareness he’s never had anyone in his bedroom—much less his bed._

_He raises the sheet and duvet to cover himself despite the fact Victor has just seen, touched, kissed, licked or nipped every square inch of him. Oswald nervously fingers the luxurious Egyptian cotton and chews his lower lip, feeling wholly out of his depth and completely at a loss about the etiquette for this sort of thing._

_Victor glances up and subtly raises the corner of his mouth. He abandons his efforts to dress and quietly pads over. Zsasz reaches for the back of Oswald’s neck and captures the man’s earlobe between his teeth for a quick tug. His lips graze the shell of the smaller man’s ear._

_“I’m gonna get goin’.”_

_Oswald blinks and offers a shy nod._

_“Of course. You probably have a lot of things to oversee before our next…”_

_Zsasz pulls down the corners of his mouth and shakes his head._

_“Nope. Everything’s been handled. Just didn’t figure you wanted me up here when Olga starts making her rounds before breakfast.”_

_Penguin glances at the grandfather clock and fiddles with the hem of the sheet. He clears his throat._

_“That’s not for a few hours yet.”_

_“Yeah, but still. Your boyfriend might be out there roamin’ around.”_

_“My boyfriend?”_

_Zsasz arches a knowing brow and smirks._

_“Uh huh. I’ve seen how you look at Freeze when you don’t think anyone’s watchin’ you.”_

_Victor slips a hand beneath the sheet, takes Penguin’s haunches in hand and squeezes, suggestively growling._

_“The way you stare at his ass. His chest and arms. Oh—and how you stare at his mouth and chin whenever you talk to him.”_

_Victor mouths Penguin’s chin. Oswald quietly gasps in response and tries to free himself from the man’s clutches. His face flushes with embarrassment and his lashes nervously flutter._

_“I thought I was being discreet.”_

_Victor softy chuckles and shakes his head._

_“No, Boss. Not so much.”_

_“Do you think he knows?”_

_Victor lowers the corners of his mouth and nods._

_“‘Fraid so.”_

_When Oswald’s face grows hot with mortification, Victor puffs out a soft, charmed snort. His words tumble out before he can stop himself._

_“You’re cute when you blush.”_

_Victor blinks at the way his stomach flutters, surprised by what he just blurted and the sound of his voice. He quickly shakes his head and clears his throat before glancing at the door._

_“Like I said, I should probably get goin’.”_

_Just as he starts to leave, Oswald’s hand on his forearm stops him._

_“Victor. Would you mind?” His voice falters a bit. “Staying? Just for a little bit?”_

_Zsasz gazes deeply into Penguin’s pale eyes, so similar to his own deceased mother’s. Victor becomes vaguely aware of how his own are tracking back and forth. His lips part the moment he feels that gentle ache in his chest and gut he sometimes gets when he's with Oswald. Victor softly shakes his head._

_“No. Not at all.”_

_The hitman slips back into bed and draws Penguin fast. Oswald melts into the hitman’s strong arms. He closes his eyes and inhales a deep breath before nudging himself flush against Victor, seeking out as much bodily contact as possible—only stopping with the man’s gentle teasing._

_“Get any closer and you’ll be on the other side of me.”_

_Oswald’s so chagrined, he’s half-tempted to defend himself, but the long press of Victor’s lips against his head reassures him. He smiles with contentment and settles in. Before he realizes it, he’s drifting off to sleep._

_By the time daylight peeks through his closed blinds and Oswald hears the activity downstairs, Victor’s gone. Penguin rises and heads to the bathroom to perform his morning ablutions. On the way, he finds Victor’s forgotten silk neckerchief. He reverently fingers it and raises it to his nose, slowly inhaling and smiling before carefully folding it and slipping it into a drawer._

—

Oswald hears a quiet knock at the door and the sound of Richard’s voice.

“Mr. Cobblepot?”

Penguin wipes his pooling eyes and clears his throat before replying.

“Yes, Richard. Please, come in.”

Klinefelter opens the door and softly shakes his head, smiling.

“Wow. You look so dashing.”

Penguin shakes his head.

“You flatter me, Richard. Thank you.”

The young man walks up and remarks on the kerchief in Penguin’s hand.

“Have you decided on _that_ one instead? May I press it for you?”

Oswald absently shakes his head as he fingers the painful relic from his past.

“This old thing? No, Richard. I was just….”

“Are you sure? It really compliments your waistcoat.”

Oswald looks into the mirror and places it in the pocket, puffing out with surprise.

“It really _does,_ doesn’t it?” He blinks and shakes his head, considering the accessory for a long moment before shrugging and offering it to the tall, lanky man. “ _Please,_ Richard. Thank you.”

“Would you like a straight fold or something with more flair?” He grins and arches a brow. “Perhaps a four peak fold?”

Oswald laughs in spite of himself, charmed.

“Tonight is one of celebration. Why _not_ a little flair?”

 

—> <—

Harley’s so excited, she can barely sit still in the driver seat of the non-descript panel truck. She and Ivy are stopped at a light just a block away from the precinct. Her grin is wide and her face practically beaming. She loudly pops her gum before leaning over to nudge and peck at Ivy’s neck just before the light changes. Her eyes sparkle with mischief.

“You ready, pumpkin?”

Ivy bites her lower lip.

“Ready.”

Harley zips into the fire lane, jumping the curb and almost driving up to the steps that lead to the entrance of the GCPD. She slams the truck into park. A unie immediately runs up, shouting.

“Hey! You can’t park that here!”

Harley kicks open the door and hops out, popping her gun and pointing a thumb over her shoulder.

“I dunno ‘bout that. She said I could.”

Ivy emerges from the other side of the truck and slinks over to the unie, gently reaching for his hand.

“Harley’s right. We really need to park here, Officer…?”

The man’s eyes and voice go dreamy and distant.

“Williams. _Robert_ Williams. Of course you can park here, Ivy. You can park _wherever_ you want.”

Ivy traipses around the cop, softly stroking his ear and neck.

“That’s very kind of you, Robert. In fact, I was wondering if you and some of your coworkers could help us out. We have a little package to deliver here.”

 

—>j<—

Jim immediately walks past the barricades and strides up to the forensics team poring over the abandoned panel truck in front of the GCPD. He heads straight for the forensics lead who’s talking to one of her techs.

“Anything?”

“No, sir. It’s clean. Nothing. No tripwires or boobytraps but… we _did_ find trace evidence of potassium nitrate.”

Jim places his hands on his waist and grits his teeth.

“Wait. Are you saying there could be…?”

The woman warily shrugs and cautiously offers.

“Explosives? We can’t rule that out, but the truck didn’t appear to have any evidence of them. Neither did the box.”

Harper strides up.

“Sir.”

“What have you got for me?”

Harper gives Gordon a status update as they walk upstairs up to the entrance.

“There’s still an active crime scene in there. We’re still trying to process everything now that the bomb squad is gone. The package had no evidence of explosives or trip wires around or inside. It’s… well… it appears to be exactly what it looks like: a great big box of nothing.”

Before opening the front door, she shakes her head.

“I just don’t get why Riddler would leave such a big mess—.”

Gordon’s face screws up with disbelief.

“ _Riddler?_ Left a mess? What do you mean?”

The moment Jim walks through the front door, he can plainly see what Harper means. Dozens of officers look as though they’ve been scuffling and the precinct’s a disaster. Paperwork, office supplies, overturned and felled furniture are scattered everywhere.

Amidst the seeming chaos is a single, large green box with purple question marks all over it. A large purple bow with green question marks has been untied and the box top opened. Jim walks up a small, folding step ladder to peer inside the purple-lined box to find (just like Harper said) absolutely _nothing_ inside.

Jim shakes his head.

“Something’s not adding up. This can’t be right. Are you _sure_ there was no note? _Nothing_ addressed to anyone? _No riddle?_ ”

“No, sir. We scoured the area and repeatedly questioned the bomb tech. He briefed us on his protocol and we thoroughly retraced his steps. Nothing.”

He squints in disbelief as Harper gives him the rundown on what happened.

“One of the unies, Williams, said Harley Quinn and Ivy Pepper delivered it in that panel truck. They also got several officers to bring the box inside. Apparently all this….” She points at the chaos all over the precinct. “Was an afterthought. Quinn encouraged everyone to fight one another and…” The woman shrugs. “Well. You know.”

Gordon stokes his moustache for a moment.

“Well that explains the mess. Nygma’s too methodical. I’m far more concerned about the trace evidence in that truck.”

Harper nods.

“I know. Me too. So far, the panel truck’s a dead end. The VIN was traced to a truck that was stolen from a moving company months ago. The plates are phony. Nothin’ yet. We’re still workin’ on it.”

Jim rests his hands and thoroughly scans the place before returning the woman’s gaze.

“Keep me posted.”

“Yes, sir.”

 

— **卌** —

Victor takes a moment to relish the sweet sting of the fresh scar he just carved inside his hip.

_One hundred ninety-nine._

He rearranges the black waistband of his boxer briefs and puts away his blade. While fastening his trousers, he nudges his boot beneath his victim’s lifeless head to take one last look into the man’s vacant eyes. Just as he’s about to confirm the job’s completion, his phone rings with a call from Egypt. Zsasz quickly answers.

“Hey. It’s done. I was about to letcha know.”

“Got it.” She pauses a moment before continuing. Her voice is circumspect. “So uh… have you decided on that _other_ gig?”

“I dunno yet.”

“Look, Vic. I know the money’s really good and everything but it’s _really_ risky and….”

Victor gets another call and glances at the caller ID.

“E, gimme a sec. It’s Xoc.”

He switches over to the other call.

“Oye. We handled that shit on the north side but fijate güerito! You’re not gonna _believe_ this shit!

“What?”

“Yaotl was spottin’ me and she just saw fuckin’ Riddles with Freeze drivin’ by in a big truck! ¡Ah chingao!”

Zsasz’s face scrunches with disbelief. He blinks and briefly shakes his head.

“She still got eyes on ‘em?”

“No. But she saw which way they went. You want us to try?”

Victor rubs his mouth for a second. While he still keeps himself apprised of the power plays around the city, he’s long since abandoned any involvement with them. None of it’s his business but he can’t help but wonder.

_Why isn't Nygma_ _with Penguin tonight? What the...?_

Zsasz looks up and takes a deep breath. He squeezes his eyes shut for moment before puffing out a long sigh and nodding against his better judgment.

“Yeah, sure—but consider it low priority.”

“Órale. Bueno pues.”

He switches back to Egypt.

“Hey. Sorry ‘bout that.”

“All good?”

“Yeah. They’re done—but I put 'em on somethin’ else. Low priority, so if somethin' else comes up….”

“Yeah, sure. Okay. But Victor. What I was sayin’ earlier about that other gig? Saffy and I’ve been talkin’ about it. _Whoever_ this client is, they’re just… _too_ willing and _way_ too eager to sweeten the deal. The whole thing is just….”

He finishes her thought.

“It doesn’t _feel_ right. I know. It’s… _off_.”

“Look, Vic. It’s your call, but if you decide to? Please don’t do it by yourself. Call us, okay?”

He curtly nods.

“Yeah. Alright.”

Zsasz concludes his call and tucks his phone back into his jacket before hustling back to his motorcycle. He straddles it for several long moments with his hands clutching his handlebar grips, thinking of Martín’s question.

**_Are you going Saturday?_ **

_“I uh… gotta gig.”_

He squeezes his eyes shut and grits his teeth.

_Fuck._

Zsasz rubs his hand down his face, starts his engine and reluctantly heads for the Iceberg Lounge.

 

—>o<—

Gotham twinkles in her evening finery. Penguin’s fête is well underway and throngs of people are lined up to get inside the Iceberg Lounge. Oswald spends most of his time meeting with Gotham’s most powerful, prestigious and wealthy, taking note of those who grovel to his satisfaction and those who don’t. His dutiful assistant is never very far off.

Oswald surveys his domain and takes in the eclectic group of the rich, the beautiful and the infamous. He takes a few long drinks as he watches the crowds dance to The Clash.

[ _Forces have been looting_ ](https://youtu.be/krl-2hgFrJU)  
[ _My humanity_ ](https://youtu.be/krl-2hgFrJU)  
[ _Curfews have been curbing_ ](https://youtu.be/krl-2hgFrJU)  
[ _The end of liberty_ ](https://youtu.be/krl-2hgFrJU)  
  
_Hands of law have sorted through_  
_My identity_  
_But now this sound is brave_  
_And wants to be free - anyway to be free_  
  
_This is radio clash on pirate satellite..._

Penguin also takes note of how Vincent’s jaw stiffens whenever they make eye contact. His security lead is still frustrated by his refusal to worry about anyone who might be targeting him tonight.

It isn’t long before Oswald thinks of Victor stalking around the club, diligently scanning for potential threats. His top man never stopped watching, looking out for him, signalling his men, assessing everyone and thing, ever vigilant. Oswald never felt safer when Zsasz was around—at least until all the ugliness between them.

Penguin thoughtfully fingers the rim of his crystal tumbler.

_I wonder if Victor…._

About that time, a woman slinks up in a black, halter neck dress with a slit. It’s Selina Kyle. She’s tapping a stilettoed nail against her champagne flute and trailing another along his jacket and tie. The woman purrs.

“Nice bash.”

Oswald blinks at the finger she’s slowly trailing down his chest. He presses his lips together and blinks a few times. Penguin replies, voice dripping with honey and venom.

“Selina. How nice of you to come.”

He scrutinizes her evening wear which is stylish enough to keep his tongue in check. Just as he’s prepared to remark on her stunning pearl jewelry, Kyle boops his nose, rests a hand on her hip and leans to one side waving her champagne flute around.

“Didn’t think it was an option to snub the King of Gotham. He might start taxing us again. You know, like he did at his _last_ big blowout?” She casually looks around. “Speaking of, where’s Nygma?”

Oswald blinks with resentment and presses his lips together.

“Contrary to popular belief, Edward and I are two distinct individuals with our own respective…”

Kyle arches a brow at Richard before smirking back at the kingpin.

“You have _no_ idea where he is, do you?”

Penguin hardens his jaw and snorts. Just as he prepares to unleash some of his legendary shade on the woman, she smiles and saunters away. Oswald fumes while he swirls his crystal tumbler and takes a few long drinks from it. Before long, he recognizes a voice from the past but its timbre has deepened with age.

“Mr. Cobblepot! Despite the years, you _still_ know how to throw the best party in Gotham!”

Oswald stretches a wide grin at Gotham’s favorite son swaggering up with a drink in hand and two stunning women hanging on either arm. Penguin hobbles up, extends his hand and offers the billionaire a hearty handshake. Alfred Pennyworth stands off a bit out of the way, looking on.

“If it isn’t Mr. Bruce Wayne! I’m _honored_ you found some time in that busy social calendar of yours to stop by.”

The young man scoffs.

“Are you _kidding_ ? The Iceberg Lounge is _the_ **_only_ ** _place_ to be in Gotham tonight.”

Oswald holds a hand to his chest and feigns humility.

“You flatter me. Still, the Gazette can barely keep up with you around town since you’ve returned home. It seems the Wayne Foundation and Wayne Enterprises’ newest real estate acquisitions are keeping you _very_ busy these days.”

Wayne arches a brow and scoffs, pointing a finger at himself.

“Me? Never! I only concern myself with more…” He draws his two companions closer and nudges their long necks. The women giggle and rub his chest while he continues addressing the kingpin with a wink. “... _stimulating_ affairs.” Bruce swirls his tumbler before taking a swig. “Besides, isn’t that what all my lawyers and accountants are for?”

Penguin puffs out a shrewd chuckle and shakes his head.

“Indeed they are.” The kingpin narrows his eyes and takes a step closer, meticulously studying the young man. “I don’t suppose your team of lawyers and accountants would know anything about a piece of property I was interested in purchasing. The Van Dahl estate? Ring any bells?”

Bruce waves his whiskey tumbler and turns to holler for Alfred, who quickly approaches.

“Yes, Master Bruce?”

Pennyworth briefly turns to Oswald, clasping his hands behind his back. He politely addresses the kingpin.

“Mr. Cobblepot. Quite the fête you have here this evening.”

Bruce takes a swig from his tumbler before addressing his butler.

“Alfred, could you please inquire as to whether or not we acquired…” He glances at Penguin and nods. “The Van Dahl estate, you say?”

“That’s correct. My….” Oswald turns to look for the young man, but he’s already standing beside him. “My _personal_ assistant, Richard Klinefelter here can provide you with our contact information.”

Bruce continues talking to Alfred as he glances back at Penguin.

“Could you please make certain we get an answer to Mr. Cobblepot tonight?”

“Right away, sir.”

The Englishman turns to Richard.

“Mr. Klinefelter, shall we?”

Alfred briefly turns to Penguin before making his way with Richard to speak with the man and further research the matter.

“Good evening, Mr. Cobblepot.”

Just as Oswald is about to thank Bruce, Selina pops off. Penguin can practically hear the woman rolling her eyes as she snarks.

“Alright, Bruce! We _get_ it!” She raises her hands and wiggles her fingers, feigning awe. “You’re the richest person in Gotham!”

Her voice grows bitter.

“Everyone’s _so_ impressed!”

Selina places a hand on her hip and points a finger at him.

“Those people _work_ for you. They’re not your _slaves,_  Bruce! Don’t you think they might have _better_ things to do tonight than dropping everything just to kiss your rich butt? They have lives _too,_ ya know.”

Just as Oswald turns to apologize for Kyle’s comment, he’s struck by Bruce’s parting lips and changed body language the moment he sees Selina. If Oswald didn’t know any better, he’d swear the cocky billionaire looked embarrassed.

“Selina.” Bruce takes a moment to regard her and swallows. He absently nods. “You’re looking… _well_.”

The woman scoffs and shakes her head; her tone is derisive.

“Gee _thanks,_ your Royal Highness.” She mock curtsies. “Don’t let me ruin your night of…” Kyle narrows her gaze and rolls her eyes at his two companions. She dismissively waves before slinking off. “… _whatever._ ”

Bruce casts Selina a long gaze as she walks away.

Oswald watches the entire exchange in complete astonishment.

_Well I’ll be damned._

 

—>j<—

Just as Jim arrives at Iceberg Lounge, he gets another call from Harper.

“Captain. Any leads on the panel truck?”

“No, sir. But…”

Jim gruffs.

“ _What?_ ”

“Sir, we just got a call. Something’s happening at Arkham. We don’t have a lotta details but it looks like Riddler hit again—this time with some help from Hatter. We’ve just dispatched some units over. I’m heading there now.”

“How can we be sure it’s Riddler? Or that it’s not a trap?”

“Well, until we learn more, we can’t. But I’m confident the call’s legit. It’s from someone we know. Her name’s Dottie Jackson. She’s one of the facility workers here.”

“Wait. I think I know her. Doesn’t she have a hearing impairment?”

“Yeah. Her employer also has a contract with Arkham and probably why we found out what’s happening as quickly as we did. Said people stopped everything to follow a curly-haired brunette man in a top hat, like they were all in some kinda trance. She ran and hid in the room with the TDD line and called. She can’t see much out the window but it looks like inmates and staff are painting question marks all around the asylum entrance and dragging something huge out of a large truck.”

Jim exits his sedan.

“Any casualties?”  
  
“No sir, not that we know of.”

He puffs out a relieved sigh.

“Okay. You’ve got this Harper. Keep me in the loop.”

“Can I expect to see you there?”

“Not yet—but I’m gonna work things from another angle. I’m gonna talk to someone who might have some insight on what Nygma might be up to. I’ll be in touch.”

Jim puffs out a huge sigh before making his way through the bustling crowds of bar hoppers, people partying in the streets, and the throngs of revelers lining up to get into Penguin’s thumping club. He walks right up to the bouncers at the door. They cross their arms and greet him without ceremony.

“Commissioner Gordon.”

Jim places his hands on his hips.

“I need to talk to Penguin. Official police business.”

The bouncers exchanges glances before huffing and allowing the lawman entry. Jim’s instantly hit with the sights, sounds and smells of revelry the moment the doors open. People are drinking and dancing to blaring music as far as the eye can see.

Gordon walks through the club, taking in its décor and guests, thinking about how strange it feels to walk around the club, how it feels both foreign and familiar. It’s been years since he last set foot in this place, having long secured a rank that no longer requires him to pound the pavement or do any _“actual”_ police work (as his old partner _loves_ reminding him every chance he gets).

_God I wish Harvey was here._

Despite the distance and perspective his higher rank and years afford Jim, he easily slips back into his old detective persona the way one slips into an old, well-loved jacket. Only then does Jim recognize the music.

_It’s a slow dive_  
_When ya dive slow…_  


It’s the same fucking song playing in that club the night he collected Penguin’s debt in exchange for his old job back from Loeb all those years ago. Jim remembers the night he approached Penguin to ask for the favor. Oswald’s muscle, Zsasz and Gilzean (back when he was _still_ Gilzean), were dutifully present. Selina sat perched up on a table, looking on. She was a kid back then, her face still soft and plump with youth.

_“I’m so happy you came to me for help, Jim. The answer is yes. Your wish is granted.”_

_“You don’t know what it is yet.”_

_“You want Loeb fired and your old job back. No?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“For a good friend like you, it can be done. If you’re sure that’s what you want.”_

_“I’m sure.”_

_“May I ask why? Police work in Gotham is such a thankless job.”_

_“Good pension.”_

_“What does Lee think?”_

_“Who?”_

_“Are you gonna help me or not?_

_“Relax. I already said I would help.” The man briefly turned to Selina. “He is so brusque, isn’t he?”_  
  
_Jim gruffs and prepares to leave._

_“Thank you.”_

_“Oh, while I think on it, perhaps there’s a small favor you could do for me in return. I know how you hate to owe favors. I am having a small business dispute with a friend of mine, Ogden Barker. You have a persuasive personality. Perhaps you can talk to him.”_

_“You want me to collect a debt for you?”_

_“I want you to prove to me that our friendship is a real one. Based on trust and equity.”_

_“That’s fair.” Jim considers Penguin’s offer for a moment. “No. Sorry. I can’t help you. Congratulations on all your success.”_

_“Don’t say no now, Jim. Sleep on it.”_

Jim recalls returning fire with Barker and lodging two bullets in the man's chest. He can still see the club owner's lifeless body in that parking garage. The police commissioner immediately thinks back on tucking in his daughter.

_“Barbara. It’s like I told you earlier. It’s not that simple. People aren’t that simple. They aren’t just ‘good’ or ‘bad’. Everyone’s made of both light and dark. Everyone.”_

_“Even you?”_

_“_ **_Especially_ ** _me.”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. For those of you who actually read this sh!t at the end, I really thought this would be the final chapter. Apparently not. I’ll wrap it up with the next one. 
> 
> Mmm. I uh… I’ve always kinda wanted to write a Gobblepot thing but I really don’t think I’ve got the chops for it. Interpol’s “Success” was actually the thing that gave me the first inkling before I even dreamt up this fic. I just pictured Oswald holding court in the Iceberg Lounge and Gordon walking in. 
> 
> Let’s see. The Clash. I remember reading or hearing RLT mention in an interview (way back when Gotham first started maybe?) that he thought Penguin’s favorite band would be The Clash and (since I felt this song is a wee bit reminiscent of Year Zero), I thought it’d be a nice touch. (My song runners up were Police and Thieves and The Guns of Brixton.)
> 
> Victor’s deceased mother’s eye color is a nod to A_Cautionary_Tale and their fic, “Catch up”. [You can check it here.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17165771/chapters/40361219) I love how they imagined Victor’s parents in that fic. A_C_T and I share a _lotta_ headcanons about Mr. Zsasz. Thank you, A_C_T, for helping me out, for all your support with this fic, for all our fun tumblr talks and for geekin’ out about Barry with me! :3 Really. You’re the best.
> 
> Oh and FC. If you read this, it just occurred to me while I was out in the garden earlier today that it was almost a year ago that I started developing this story before you shook your fanfic booty at me and seduced me with Safe Word as we sat and spitballed ideas for your ‘solo’ Jim Gordon post Boxcutter thingie. *puffs out an amused snort*
> 
> Thank you kindly for the reads and the comments, y’all. Seriously. It means the world to me. -o- }8>


	10. New Dawn Fades

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Penguin receives unexpected guests and news during his Iceberg Lounge celebration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“A change of speed, a change of style_   
>  _A change of scene, with no regrets_   
>  _A chance to watch, admire the distance_   
>  _Still occupied, though you forget_   
>    
>  _Different colors, different shades_   
>  _Over each mistakes were made_   
>  _I took the blame_   
>    
>  _Directionless so plain to see_   
>  _A loaded gun won't set you free_   
>  _So you say….”_   
>  [ _—“New Dawn Fades” (written and performed by Joy Division)_ ](https://youtu.be/IsT_PvMR4j4)   
> 

—>o<—

Oswald has spent most of the evening on his feet and his knee is killing him. The radiating pain has made it all the way to his hip and is slowing him down—so much that his shoulder, arm and hand now ache from the tight grasp he’s kept on his cane attempting to mask his discomfort and compensate for his knee.

He glances around to determine if any other well-wishers are looking to meet with him but everyone appears to be busy celebrating. Most anyone who’s anyone has already come by to thank him, grovel, or compliment him on the night’s festivities.

Just as he starts to signal Richard he’s heading to his office for a break, he spies Jim Gordon making his way through the crowd. Judging by the look on the man’s face, the call is _not_ a social one (not that it ever _would_ be). He can still hear his mother.

_“Well, business is very fine. But always remember, you can just trust on one. No one but your mother.”_

_“I know. I know. But you know what? I think I finally found somebody I can trust. A policeman.”_

_“Police? The police are liars.”_

_“Mm-mm. Not this one, Mom. He’s a real friend.”_

_“Hmph.”_

_“He’ll help me come out right in the end.”_

The lawman approaches with his usual clenched jaw and business swagger.

“Oswald. You’re looking well.” He places his hands on his hips and briefly surveys the club before turning back to the kingpin. “Looks like half of Gotham is here tonight. You’ve outdone yourself.”

Penguin arches a brow, amused by the man’s awkward attempt at pleasantries. He notes Gordon’s flexing jaw and temporal muscles. Oswald grins.

“Jim. So nice to see you, old friend.”

Penguin barely finishes his greeting before Jim gets down to business.

“Oswald, we—.”

Penguin raises his hand and shakes his head with a knowing smirk.

“Don’t tell me. Need to _‘talk’_? Of course. I believe you know the way.”

He waves Jim towards his office and hobbles with him.

“I must say, your attempt at conversation before business is a refreshing change. I take it your current position requires…” He pauses and slyly grins. “More _diplomacy_ than your previous ones, perhaps?”

Jim sucks his teeth and briefly glances away.

“Perhaps.”

Penguin and Jim approach his office, guarded by his security chief. As the men enter, Jim and Vincent wordlessly regard one another. Oswald turns to his guest after the door closes behind them.

“Please. Make yourself comfortable. Mi casa es _su_ casa.”

Cobblepot limps over to his wetbar to pour himself some sublimely aged single malt scotch. He looks over a shoulder and raises an empty tumbler at Jim who’s standing with a clenched jaw and a hand on a hip. The lawman raises his hand and curtly shakes his head.

“No thank you.”

“Suit yourself.”

Oswald takes note of Jim’s stiff body language on the way to his desk with his clicking cane. Only then does it occur to him that Gordon hasn’t graced the doors of his office since _that night_ all those years ago.

Jim warily glances around, trying _not_ to think of how he behaved the last time he was alone here with Penguin. When he subtly twitches with the memory of Oswald beneath his hands, he clears his throat and circumspectly seats himself.

Despite his pain, Oswald’s vanity keeps him from plopping himself down. He works hard to avoid groaning with relief once he’s seated in his sumptuous leather chair. Penguin takes a slow sip of his whisky, relishing the notes of toffee and vanilla with _just_ enough peat. He takes a moment to regard Jim’s lamentable moustache and how much the man’s age, rank and fatherhood has tempered him.

“So, Jim. To what do I owe the pleasure of _this_ little visit?”

“We need to know where Ed is and what he has planned for Gotham tonight.”

Oswald narrows his gaze and takes another drink from his crystal tumbler before setting it down. He briefly circles the rim before replying.

“I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

Jim’s jaw clenches.

“You _can’t_ or you _won’t?_ ”

Penguin tents his fingers and shrugs.

“You heard me, Jim. I _can’t_.”

Jim rubs down his mouth.

“Oswald. We don’t have time for games. We really need to know—.”

Penguin raises his hand and presses his lips together, working to temper his defensiveness. His disappointment with Edward’s conspicuous absence and self-absorption the past few weeks has already been gnawing at him. As difficult as it is for Oswald to admit, he’s been wondering the same thing.

“Jim. Contrary to what you and everyone else seems to think, I am _not_ Edward’s keeper. It just so happens—.”

Oswald stops at the sound of a knock at the door. He looks up to find Richard poking his head in with a troubled expression and an apologetic tone.

“Mr. Cobblepot. I hate to disturb you, but an urgent matter’s come up.”

Penguin nods his head and waves him forward. The young man strides up, leans in close to his ear and whispers.

“Sir, a representative of the Van Dahl estate’s purchaser just called.”

Oswald blinks with surprise and turns to look at the young man. Richard clears his throat again and pushes up his glasses before leaning in a second time.

“They have no interest in selling the property but wanted to inform you that, during their remodel, they discovered some items that might be of interest to you. If you want them, they’ve requested you to come and retrieve them before their demolition crew arrives tomorrow.”

As the men talk, Jim’s struck by how much the young man resembles Nygma during his early tenure with the GCPD. He also watches Penguin’s confident demeanor subtly shift to surprise then uncertainty before reverting back to his usual air of smug self-confidence. Oswald looks back up at the young man and offers a quick, assured nod.

“Thank you, Richard. We’ll discuss it further after my meeting with Commissioner Gordon.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jim waits for the door to close after the man exits. He briefly looks down before returning Penguin’s gaze. He can feel himself growing impatient.

“Oswald, we need any information you can provide.”

Penguin scoffs.

“We do?”

Jim shifts in his chair and swallows his pride, carefully considering his next words.

“ _I do. I_ need your help. Edward had a package delivered to the GCPD earlier this evening. The package itself had nothing in it but the crime scene evidence suggests he has larger plans in motion.”

Penguin shakes his head and idly chuckles.

“I’m sure _whatever_ riddle Ed left behind will reveal his motivations for—.”

“That’s the problem. There was no riddle.”

Penguin blinks with surprise.

“Wait. _None?_ And _nothing_ inside?”

Gordon shakes his head and puffs out with exasperation.

“Nothing. Do you have _any_ idea what it could mean?”

Penguin stops and considers for a moment.

_“What I want? The poor have it, the rich need it and if you eat it you'll die.”_

Oswald’s lips subtly part for a moment but he shakes his head, dismissing the thought.

“No, Jim. I’m afraid I don’t.”

The police commissioner regards him with suspicion.

“Oswald, I’m serious. If you know anything, _now’s_ the time to—.”

Penguin raises his hand and cuts him off before he can get started.

“Jim. _Stop._ You and I have been through _entirely_ too much after all these years. I’d like to think we’re beyond all this. I give you my word. I have _no_ information that would prove helpful to your investigation. So, unless there’s anything else you’d like to discuss, I’m afraid I have other pressing matters—.”

Jim blurts out before Penguin can dismiss him.

“We found trace evidence of what might possibly be explosives.”

The kingpin blinks with surprise and reconsiders for a long moment. Beyond the _personal_ significance of the answer to the very first riddle Edward ever posed him when they met at the GCPD, he has no insight to offer. The suggestion of explosives harkens back to Haven—for which Ed was the patsy. Oswald also can’t help but remember his attempt to execute Victor for the explosion. He returns Gordon’s gaze and soberly shakes his head.

“Jim, I give you my word. I have _no_ idea where he is or what he might be up to.”

Gordon takes a big breath and holds it for a moment before puffing out with resignation.

“Very well. Thank you for your time, Oswald. I… really appreciate your help.”

The unexpected sincerity of Jim’s voice takes Penguin by surprise. It takes him a moment to realize he was just about to see the man out. Just before he rises, Jim clears his throat.

“Actually, Oswald, if you don’t mind. Perhaps you _can_ help me with another unrelated matter. Do you, by chance, have _any_ information on the whereabouts of Victor Zsasz?”

Penguin blinks, taken aback by how much the mere _mention_ of Zsasz affects him. It’s almost as if Jim has just attempted to summon a ghost. Oswald presses his lips together and shakes his head. His gaze and voice grow distant.

“No. I haven’t seen Victor since…” Penguin recalls the time Jim and Harvey rescued Zsasz before his execution for Haven could be carried out. “...the last time the three of us were together.”

Jim’s mind drifts to the last few times he was with Oswald and Victor: the farcical Haven “trial”, when Penguin was dragged away from the Iceberg Lounge and that fateful night the three of them shared in this very office. Jim looks down and swallows. Just as he’s about to announce his departure, he stops at the sight of Oswald’s wide eyes searching his—so similar to how Victor’s looked in the rearview mirror of his police sedan.

“Jim.” Penguin hesitates. “A few days ago, Detective Alvarez stopped by. He showed me a photo of a woman who was recently murdered. She looked a lot like…” Penguin looks up and warily says _her_ name, “Sofia Falcone.”

Gordon thoughtfully nods. He knows he shouldn’t be disclosing details of the investigation but Penguin was right. They _have_ been through too much over the years and the man’s not a suspect. Jim croaks.

“Yeah.” Jim’s eyes trail downward as he elaborates. “She’s… not the only victim. There have been others. All staged and killed in the exact same fashion. _Every one_ of them was dressed like her.”

Oswald’s lips part with surprise when Jim’s eyes meet his again. Penguin swallows and cautiously asks.

“How many?”

“Six.” Jim clarifies, “That we _know_ of.”

Penguin absently nods his head, his voice grows circumspect.

“I see. Detective Alvarez suggested I might also be a target. Is that true?”

Jim shrugs and shakes his head.

“I saw no evidence suggesting that, but I wouldn’t rule it out.”

Despite the years, Jim has yet to shake the memory of Victor’s Sig against his head or how territorial and possessive Zsasz was with Oswald _that_ night. He remembers having Penguin dragged away for that orphan boy’s murder after Victor rolled over on him. Soon he thinks back to the day he and Penguin joined forces during Zero to search for Zsasz and take him in for questioning regarding Haven—only to have to save him from Penguin’s death sentence despite evidence supporting the man’s innocence. He can still see the hitman’s wide, incredulous eyes when he finally learned the truth about Sofia ordering the hit on her father.

“You two have… _history_.”

Oswald’s only response is a subtle nod. Jim takes it as his cue to leave. Penguin slowly rises and hobbles over to walk the man out. When the kingpin opens the door to his office, Jim thinks back on his conversation with Barbara Lee a few nights prior. He soberly turns to Penguin and thinks for a moment.

“Oswald. I never thanked you or Ed for your help in the fight against Eduard— _Bane_. I… regret that.”

Jim looks into Penguin’s eyes and extends his hand.

“I know it’s a decade late but… _thank you,_ Oswald.”

 

— **卌** —

Victor takes a long look at the text he just received on the burner cell he’s been using to communicate with the mysterious client he and the twins have been so suspicious about.

 _Would another 25 make it worth your while?_  
_I can confirm he’ll be at the Van Dahl estate_  
_late tonight or early tomorrow morning._

Zsasz tucks his phone back into his pocket and enters through the Iceberg Lounge’s back entrance. He’s not sure what’s most shocking, the fact he’s actually here or how _ridiculously_ easy it was to get past the “security” manning this part of the club. He effortlessly mixed in with all the additional catering staff and other subcontractors working the party. 

He makes his way through the kitchen and nabs a few apéritifs before entering the crowded club. It is _packed_. Zsasz really doesn’t know what he’s feeling but he’s wholly unaccustomed to the uneasiness and wariness he experiences.

For so long this place was like a second home. He felt completely at ease in it, almost as if it was _his_ in a way. His _territory_. His _turf_ —or the turf that he kept safe for _his Boss_ until the day he lied to Gordon about Martín and now, just like the moments immediately following that fateful decision, he feels like a trespasser. An interloper.

The club’s structure remains largely unchanged, but the styles and the faces are vastly different. Victor looks around and idly shakes his head at the number of the men working the club who look like Riddles. The Nygma analogs, the crowds and festivities make his mind drift to the time Nygma requested his assistance in revealing Gilzean’s duplicity against then _Mayor_ Cobblepot. Zsasz puffs out a humorless snort half expecting the pinstriped and wingtipped brute to appear as he passes the bar the bruiser once threw him over. 

As Victor skulks around, one man working the club bears _such_ an uncanny resemblance to Edward, he does a double take. Victor slows down for a second to get a better look. He studies the tall, lanky, spectacled man in a dark suit, similar to the ones Nygma wore back when he was Penguin’s Chief Of Staff, but the man’s too young and lacks Nygma’s imperious gait and arrogance.

Zsasz watches the young man stride up to the guard at Penguin’s office. After a brief exchange, the guard responds by nodding his head and opening the office door. The young man exits the office after a few minutes. Victor moves to a more secluded and quiet area and continues watching the office. Eventually, the office door opens again to the sight of Penguin standing in the doorway shaking hands with someone before seeing them out.

That someone is Jim Gordon.

Victor grits his teeth and slowly blinks as the heat flashes in his gut.

 

—>j<—

After exiting Oswald’s office, Jim takes a look through the crowded club. Rather than try to maneuver his way through the packed dance floor, he elects for walking around the perimeter. As he makes his way around, he gets the nagging suspicion he’s being watched. He slows as he approaches a darkened hallway, swearing he just saw someone disappear into it.

He warily rounds the corner and stops with astonishment at the sight of Victor Zsasz, standing and smiling before him as if he’s been waiting for him. The man’s dressed in his signature black—but curiously _without_ his once omnipresent Sigs. Jim notes now much broader and defined Victor’s neck and upper body have become. His face has also hardened with age: the lines in his forehead are more pronounced and the passage of time has also made the man’s deep-set eyes appear more so.

Victor’s dark eyes appraise him with an unsettling curiosity that borders on predatory. The image of Zsasz staring down at him and unabashedly thrusting into Penguin with all his tally-marked glory flashes into Jim’s mind.

 _“Nobody but_ **_me_** _.”_

Gordon’s stirring body rouses him from the memory. Despite the pulsing club and noise, the sound seems to melt away—almost as if the club’s reduced to the two of them. Jim clears his throat and gruffs.

“Zsasz.”

Victor stretches a sly smile.

“Hi, Jim. Been awhile.”

Victor’s seen media coverage of Gordon’s press conferences but now, this close up, he can _really_ size him up. While Jim’s still annoyingly handsome and still in decent shape, he looks battle weary and older. The moustache doesn’t help. After Zsasz finishes appraising Gordon, he slowly nods towards Penguin’s office and narrows his gaze. Victor’s voice grows knowing.

“Here for the festivities—or to ask for another _favor?_ ”

The lawman grits his teeth.

“I’m here on official police business.”

Victor mirthlessly chuckles at Jim’s attempt to mask his discomfort. He takes note of Gordon’s flexing jaw muscles, somewhat surprised by the small prickle of jealousy he still feels despite the years. He nods and answers with a hint of sarcasm.

“It’s always _business_ with you—isn’t it, Jim?”

Victor’s little dig and the way the hitman drawls his name needles at him. Gordon goes on the offensive.

“Speaking of… where _were_ you last Saturday night between the hours of nine p.m. and midnight?”

Zsasz puffs out an amused snort and smiles to one side of his face. He tilts his head and snarks.

“Why? Did another building go…” He briefly squints and looks up, trying to recall Bullock’s words when they questioned him about Haven. “ _‘Kablooey?’_ ”

Jim shakes his head and his voice hardens.

“No, but a woman was found murdered. Maura Lapinski. Ring any bells?”

Jim notices Victor’s bare hands when the man folds his arms and leans against the wall. He remembers those ringed fingers from the first time he met Victor at the GCPD and from _that_ night. He can still see them in Oswald’s hair and traversing the man’s pale, lithe body. He can even still feel them ghosting _him_. Victor’s voice pulls him from his rumination.

“Isn’t this kinda below your pay grade, _Commissioner_ Gordon? Shouldn’t someone _else_ be askin’ the questions? You know— _at the precinct maybe?_ Like say… Detective Alvarez?” Victor offers a sly, open-mouthed grin and briefly scans the club before returning Jim’s gaze. “Any chance _he’s_ around somewhere?” He bites his lower lip and arches a brow. “In those glasses… and that bow tie?”

Jim bristles when Zsasz wolf whistles but continues his questioning.

“She’s not the only one. There have been others.” Jim walks up a step. “And they _all_ seem to look a _lot_ like Sofia Falcone.”

Victor subtly shifts with unease, uncertain if it’s because Jim’s on to him or because he’s been unable to forgive himself for not seeing past Sofia’s duplicity and for not putting her down himself for what she did to Don Falcone. He tamps down his disquiet and ignores the heat on his face. He nonchalantly scratches his neck and shrugs.

“Ya don’t say.”

Jim takes note of Victor’s subtle rigidity just beneath his relaxed posture. He knows he hit a nerve and takes a step closer.

“There seems to be a serial component to the murders. They all look like, or were _groomed_ to look like Sofia Falcone. Each woman was killed in the same fashion, by a left-handed killer.” Jim watches Zsasz grit his teeth and keeps prodding. “Almost as if the killer has some kind of obsession with Sofia Falcone. All his victims were found wearing clothing similar to hers.”

After Jim shows his hand, Victor slowly rubs his lips and puffs out an amused snort before stepping away from the wall to approach him. Zsasz looks down at the lawman with a wry smile. He answers with a drawl.

“Well… seein’ how ya _haven’t_ brought me into the _precinct_ for questioning or _informed_ of my rights…”

Victor toggles his thumb and index finger back and forth between them.

“Guess this means we’re _just talkin’_ here, right?” Victor leans in uncomfortably close and narrows his gaze. “That’s _real_ interesting, Jim. _Someone_ in the GCPD must have _intimate_ knowledge of Sofia Falcone to come up with a motive like _that_.”

Victor swivels his head and arches a brow before dismissively shrugging.

“But what do I know? I’m notta cop.”

Jim’s smugness immediately gives way. Victor rubs beneath his lips with the knuckle of his thumb and scrunches his head in thought before elaborating.

“Seems like _everyone_ wound up in her pocket after Penguin… even the GCPD brass. Oh. Not _you_ though. _Everyone_ knows how honest _you_ are. Pyg musta made things _real tough_ for you guys back then, huh? But bein’ a cop in this town’s always been a tough gig. Well...” He snaps his fingers and deliberately points to Jim, nodding. “‘Cept for _you_ , anyway.”

Victor licks his lips and hardens his gaze.

“You _always_ seem to land on your feet no matter _how_ bad things get. Gettin’ promotion after promotion for _always_ doin’ the _right_ thing. The wife and kid must be _real_ proud of you, huh?”

Jim swallows and looks down, caught flat-footed at how much Zsasz just called him out and by how much he underestimated the man. Just as Jim struggles to answer, Victor quips.

“Oh. My bad. How rude of me, hoggin’ up the conversation.”

Victor lays a hand on his chest and leans to one side, feigning embarrassment.

“Was there anything else _you_ wanted to say?”

Jim briefly looks away and grits his teeth. He tightly shakes his head.

“No.”

Victor pulls down the corners of his mouth and slowly nods.

“Well don’t let _me_ keep you from your ‘official police business’ then. Nygma’s probably keepin’ you guys busy tonight. Nice chat… _Jim_.”

Victor bumps Jim’s shoulder as he walks away, soon disappearing into the club’s gyrating revelers.

 

—>o<—

Oswald sits at his desk, peering at the television Richard just clicked on in the middle of a news segment. Valerie Vale’s standing outside the gates of Arkham along with other reporters, photographers and camera people.

“The GCPD isn’t allowing anyone closer, but it looks like Riddler’s struck again. If you look behind me, you can see what appears to be a giant origami penguin in front of Arkham.”

The camera moves from Vale’s face and zooms in as close as possible to the structure as the woman continues reporting.

“It seems the penguin has question marks all over it. Still no word on if the structure is dangerous, but sources inform us Riddler also struck earlier at the GCPD—leaving Gotham to wonder, is this an homage to Penguin, an Iceberg Lounge publicity stunt or is something more sinister at play?”

Richard clicks off the television.

“Sir, ever since this segment ran, we’ve had even _more_ people lining up to get inside. Vincent says he needs more numbers to properly secure the club and ensure your safe—.”

Penguin raises his hand to stop him.

“Thank you, Richard. I’m more concerned about the representative of the estate's buyer. He didn’t give you _any_ additional information?”

“No, sir. I tried to obtain more details about the items and negotiate more time for you to retrieve them but he said his client wouldn’t budge. The only concession they made was assuring me someone would be present to meet you no matter the hour because of your celebration tonight. He said it was the least they could do, considering all you’ve done for Gotham.”

Penguin grits his teeth and his eyes drift downward in thought. After a brief moment, he nods and returns the young man’s concerned gaze.

“Thank you, Richard. I’d… like a moment, please.”

The man curtly nods before exiting.

“Yes, sir. Of course.”

Once the young man leaves, Penguin rises from his desk and hobbles up to the wetbar to pour himself another one. He’s deep in thought over Edward’s conspicuous absence, what he learned during Jim’s visit and now, the suspicious timing of the Van Dahl estate’s mystery buyer demanding that he retrieve items that might be of personal interest with no warning and an impossible deadline. None of it sat right with him.

After pouring his drink, he hears a knock and his office door opening. Just as he’s about to raise the glass to his lips, he hears the all-too-familiar cocking of a gun and a singsong voice he hasn’t heard in a very long time, a voice he wasn’t sure he’d ever hear again.

“Hi-ho.”

Penguin’s blood run cold. It takes him a moment to realize that he’s holding his breath. He subtly inhales a slow, deep breath to settle himself after Victor quips.

“Looks like _Vince_ here’s gonna get ya killed.”

Oswald raises his crystal tumbler to his lips before turning around.

“Is _that_ why you’re here?”

“Not sure yet.”

When Oswald finally turns, he’s faced with the sight of his chief security officer’s head firmly locked in the crook of Zsasz’s arm and a GSR firmly pressed against it.

“Victor, if you _really_ wanted me dead, I _would_ be. _Wouldn’t_ I?”

Penguin takes another slow sip, regarding Zsasz for a long moment. It’s almost as if the man’s aging is inversely proportional to his. He’s struck by how much stronger and _harder_ Victor looks. Despite the roiling muscles Zsasz’s clothes barely mask, some things remain constant: those impossibly dark, Stygian eyes, that reptilian smile and that drawl—low, measured, _raptorial._

“ _That_ you would be.”

“So is there a price on my head?”

Victor casually shrugs.

“Could be. You’d fetch a handsome sum—and it’d be _easy_ too.” Zsasz shoves the barrel of his gun more aggressively against his hostage’s head. Victor slowly nods and admonishes him. “You _really_ oughta beef up your security. Do you have _any_ idea how _easy_ it was to sneak in here?”

Oswald swirls his glass and steps forward.

“Well, my top man left me _many_ years ago. No matter how hard I try, I have _yet_ to find someone who can fill his shoes. You interested in the position?”

Zsasz tries to mask the twinge Penguin’s comment elicits. He squeezes the man’s neck harder and casually shakes his head.

“I’m retired.”

Penguin puffs out a sardonic snort and wry chuckle. He takes another swig and briefly looks to his security lead, helplessly at the mercy of his former enforcer. Penguin meets Zsasz’s predatory gaze.

“Victor…”

He nods towards Vincent.

“I believe you’ve made your point. Would you mind releasing my security chief?”

After Zsasz releases his red-faced hostage, Penguin addresses the man.

“Vincent. Leave us.”

“But boss—.”

“You _heard_ me. _Leave_ us, Vincent.”

The man grits his teeth and dares a glance at Victor who has a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. Zsasz smirks at the humiliated man as he exits. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uh… I thought I was gonna be done with this chapter. 
> 
> *sheepishly looks side to side* 
> 
> Apparently, not. I wanted to take a little more time exploring when these three men finally meet again after all this time—and I really wanted Penguin and Victor’s reunion to be theirs and theirs alone. Those two have some unfinished business, don’thca think? 
> 
> Y’all know the drill. I have no beta. Holler if you see anything requiring my attention. It’s kinda late and I prolly shouldn’t post this as tired as I am but I’m just gonna live on the edge. Jess clicks the [Post Without Preview] and hopes for the best.
> 
> Thanks for all the reads and the kind words you guys. Really. Y’all are the best.


	11. He’s Not You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oswald hires Victor for one final gig.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“I could aim_   
>  _But I could not fire_   
>  _Got a bullet to spare_   
>  _To kill my desire_   
>    
>  _Who's calling the shots?_   
>  _One of us must make the peace_   
>  _To have or to have not_   
>  _The fire has got to cease_   
>    
>  _I'm loaded_   
>  _Don't know where to point this thing…._   
>  [ _—“War of the Hearts” (written by Helen [Sade] Adu and Stuart Matthewman, performed by Sade)_ ](https://youtu.be/nvAQ8DOXJH8)   
>    
>  _“…Directionless so plain to see_   
>  _A loaded gun won't set you free_   
>  _So you say._   
>    
>  _Oh, I've walked on water, run through fire_   
>  _Can't seem to feel it anymore_   
>  _It was me, waiting for me_   
>  _Hoping for something more_   
>  _Me, seeing me this time_   
>  _Hoping for something else.”_   
>  [ _—“New Dawn Fades” (written and performed by Joy Division)_ ](https://youtu.be/IsT_PvMR4j4)   
> 

—> <—

Victor resists scratching the sweet itch as he keeps his GSR on Penguin’s exiting security chief, licking his parting lips at the thought of firing a round into the man’s head.

Oswald self-consciously smooths down his tie and sucks in his gut, suddenly wishing he was still wearing his top hat while Zsasz steadies his eyes and Sig on Vincent. Only then does he realize he should be more concerned about the location of his weapons rather than his appearance now that he’s alone with the lethal man.

After the door closes and the club sounds quiet, Penguin fingers the handle of his cane with the hidden blade and glances at his desk, where he has two Colts stowed away. He curses himself for spending so much time on his feet because he’s _really_ feeling his age, weight and fatigue tonight—not that he could ever best Victor in a gunfight. The most he can hope is buying himself some time, especially since Victor no longer wears his once trademark double holster over his jacket.

Oswald cautiously takes another drink before shaking his head and puffing out with disbelief. He works hard to keep his face and voice neutral for fear of betraying the curious mixture of disquietude and assuagement he’s feeling.

“I must say, you are the _last_ person I expected to see here tonight.”

Zsasz takes a moment to study Oswald before relaxing his posture and grip on his Sig. He takes his time slipping it beneath his lapel and into his holster for Penguin’s benefit, surprised by a pang of something he can’t identify. He still can’t figure out what the hell possessed him to come in the first place.

“Gotta admit, I’m a little surprised to be here myself.”

He dismissively shrugs and scratches the back of his head.

Penguin nods and carefully scrutinizes Victor’s body language, mildly relieved that the unflappable man appears to be as uneasy as he is. It’s oddly reassuring. To Oswald’s surprise, he feels compelled to extend an olive branch. After an awkward silence, he shakes his head and hesitantly offers.

“I… was about to fix myself a drink. Would you care for something?”

Zsasz is thrown by Penguin’s hospitality. Not only was he _not_ expecting to be alone with Oswald, he can’t believe the man’s neither grandstanding nor spiraling into one of his usual fits of rage.

“Uh…” He nods. “Sure.”

After reaching the wet bar, Owald looks over a shoulder.

“I assume you still don’t drink.”

Zsasz puffs out a small chuckle and eases a little.

“You assume correctly.”

Victor takes in the décor of Penguin’s office to the sound of tinkling ice cubes, the brief hiss of an opening bottle and effervescent pouring. He saunters over when he smells the freshly cut lime. When Oswald turns with his drink, Zsasz’s lips part at the fizzing glass with lime twists. He swallows and replies with disbelief.

“You remembered.”

Oswald brow crinkles.

“Of _course_ I remembered.” He shakes his head. “I’m sorry I don’t have any grapefruit. I can see if the kitchen—.”

Victor raises a hand and shakes his head.

“No. This is great. _Thank_ you.”

Oswald pours himself another and makes his way to his desk, relieved to have a prop when he finally takes a seat. He studies Victor’s gloveless hands, taking note of his new rings while he takes a sip.

“The years have been kind to you. You’re looking well.”

Victor’s eyes drift downward before returning Penguin’s gaze. He’s not sure why the pleasantry gets to him but he feels the years have been anything _but_. He’s unsure how to respond.

“You’re looking…”

Oswald’s visibly older and thicker, but still handsome. The grey in his temples and his monocle give him a more classic and distinguished look. His hairstyle has matured with him so he now limits his distinctive accents to flourishes in his tie, waistcoat and pocket square. Victor tilts his head and narrows his eyes at it for a better look, only to notice Penguin’s now defensive body language. Zsasz looks back into the man’s eyes and searches for the right word to finish his sentence.

“... _Rich_.”

Oswald begins puffing with indignance before deflating. He is, after all, talking to Victor (who has surprisingly learned _some_ tact with the years). The kingpin tilts his head and manages an embarrassed smile as he tips his tumbler to the man. Victor pulls up one corner of his mouth.

“ _And_ well.”

Zsasz nods towards the door and squints an incredulous eye.

“Quite the shindig you’ve got goin’ on out there." He stops for a moment. "Is that _seriously_ all the security you have tonight?”

Penguin arches a brow and raises his tumbler to his lips, considering his two hidden Colts.

“Are you _asking out of professional interest_ or are you _concerned for my personal safety?_ ”

Victor nonchalantly shrugs.

“Just curious.”

While Penguin takes a wary sip of single malt, Zsasz can’t help but follow up with another question.

“So uh…” He narrows his eyes, he presses his lips together for a moment. “Where’s Nygma?”

Oswald stiffens with a combination of paranoia and defensiveness. He takes another sip to hide his discomfort.

“He’s… _around_.”

Penguin grits his teeth and tries to keep his body from revealing how much of a sore spot Ed’s absence is. He can already feel his breath getting away from him. He works hard to keep his face neutral and to keep himself from blinking. He dismissively shrugs.

“Ed’s business is his own.”

Zsasz knows he hit a nerve.

_He has no idea where Riddles is._

Victor slowly blinks and shakes his head with disbelief before puffing a contemptuous snort. He _still_ remembers Oswald’s insistence on keeping Edward as his frozen prisoner. He’s not sure why Nygma’s absence rankles him but it does.

“Kind of a big night for you, isn’t it? And he’s _not_ here?” Victor incredulously shakes his head. “And you _still_ insist on keeping him around.”

The hitman’s comment finally riles Oswald enough to lean forward in his chair and jeer.

“I fail to see how that’s _any_ of your business.”

Victor squares his jaw and shoulders. He tilts his head, narrows his gaze and hardens his voice.

“Someone could be gunnin’ for you. Nygma’s not here and you know _damn well_ you don’t have enough security out there. What gives? Been on top so long you’ve gotten sloppy or do ya just have some kinda death wish now?”

Oswald’s voice grows icy. He leans forward, narrows his eyes and slowly draws out his words like a blade.

“Is that _really_ why you’re here, Zsasz? How much is my life worth these days?”

 _“Plenty._ And they keep tryin’ to sweeten the deal.”

“So why haven’t you done the job yet?”

Zsasz blinks with the realization that he doesn’t know. Doesn’t know why he showed up. Doesn’t know why he was _hell bent_ on seeing Penguin the moment he discovered Nygma was with Freeze without so much as planning his job or calling the twins for backup. Doesn’t know why he’s sitting in this fucking chair, _talking_ to the man and _not_ speeding away from the club toward a big fat payday after lodging a .45 in his raven-haired head.

Oswald carefully studies the flickering microexpressions on Victor’s face, softening when the heat visibly rises on it and the man averts his gaze. It’s a subtler version of the moments following their last fuck when Victor finally realized his transgression.

Zsasz swallows, the edge to his tone noticeably softens.

“Like I said. I don’t know.”

Zsasz’s eyes trail downward. He lifts his drink to his lips and takes a few long swallows as he stares off into nothingness. Oswald knows, even if Victor _could_ discern his reasons, the taciturn man would never disclose them. He’s stunned Victor even admitted his bewilderment.

Oswald stops and considers his next move. He knows it’s a gamble but it _feels_ like it’s the right one to make. He ceremoniously rises from his desk with his cane and limps to his safe. A short while later, he places a stack of cash on his desk before Victor.

“Is that enough to hire you for my personal security—say through tomorrow morning?”

Victor tilts his head and regards the cash for a long moment before returning Penguin’s gaze and nonchalantly shrugging.

“It’ll do.”

Zsasz promptly downs the rest of his drink and stands before Penguin. He removes his jacket and double holster hidden beneath.

Penguin watches the man adroitly slip back into his jacket and adjust his holster before shrugging back into it. Victor pulls his leather gloves from a jacket pocket and slips them on. Penguin smiles and softly clucks in spite of himself. He picks up the cash and offers it. Victor raises a hand.

“ _After_ the job’s done.”

“Very well then.”

Oswald tucks the stack inside his jacket and returns to his desk for his extra insurance. The hitman quips.

"Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown."

“Never truer words spoken.”

Penguin grabs his top hat and returns with his clicking cane, stopping at the door. Before they head out, he dares a look up at Victor, whose eyes have drifted to his pocket square again. Oswald watches the glimmer of recognition and the way Zsasz’s lips part with surprise. _Those eyes. Those lips. That mouth_ that laid claim to him before anyone. That _hurt_ him more than anyone. That _haunt_ him more than anyone.

Victor’s mind drifts back to his first night in Oswald’s bed. He can still feel the tug of the man's impatient fingers clawing off and tossing aside his shirt and that very same kerchief. His body subtly aches with the memory of Oswald’s warm skin against his.

_“Victor, please.”_

Penguin clears his throat and breaks the spell.

“Victor?”

Zsasz blinks and peers into Oswald’s eyes for a long moment before promptly opening the door. He holds a gloved hand to Oswald’s chest to keep him back until he finishes scanning the revelers to his satisfaction. He locks eyes with Vincent and then places a hand at the small of Penguin’s back, following him out into the thumping club.

Oswald makes his way into the crowd, meeting with guests and well-wishers. Despite the volume of partygoers and his temporary reprieve from whatever hell Victor has in store for him later, the hitman’s presence provides Penguin unanticipated succor. It’s comforting. _Familiar._ So reminiscent of the days when it was just the two of them and he never felt safer or more certain that Victor would _always_ be by his side.

Zsasz dutifully follows Penguin around the club, ever-vigilant. Despite his familiarity with the structure, the faces are all different. He keeps Oswald within arm’s reach at all times, carefully watching the man’s tells and noting just how much his age and weight have slowed him down. He finally sees how much Penguin’s gait and posture have been affected and how much more pain he suffers and works to mask.

Victor glances down at the white-knuckled grip Penguin's keeping on his cane and leans into the man's ear.

“Need a break?”

Oswald looks up and reluctantly nods. Together, they walk to a quieter, reserved area. Victor stands guard waiting for the kingpin to seat himself as Vincent glares back at him. He notices a tall, rapidly-approaching figure. When Victor reaches for his Sig, Oswald shakes his head.

“He’s my personal assistant.”

Richard slows and warily studies Victor as he approaches Penguin.

“Mr. Cobblepot. Do you still plan on going to the Van Dahl estate? Should I try and call their…?”

Oswald raises his hand and shakes his head, reassuring the man.

“I’ll… handle it. Thank you, Richard.”

Victor meticulously studies Penguin who grits his teeth after the man exits. He narrows his gaze and leans in.

“What’s the problem?”

“An unexpected matter has arisen but I have _this_ tonight.” He raises a hand in exasperation and bitterly continues. “I can’t believe I spent _months_ preparing for this night and now I want nothing more than to leave.”

Victor shrugs.

“So leave.”

 

—>¿?<—

Ed’s grinning like a Cheshire Cat. He’s been following the media coverage of his two tableaux and how baffled the GCPD is. So far, everything’s going according to plan. He stretches a self-congratulatory smirk as he sets to check on the final pieces he has yet to put into play.

He taps out a text to Klinefelter a little before last call.

_When is Our Royal Majesty leaving the club?_

_He left a couple of hours ago._

Ed’s face screws up in shock.

_No-no-no-no-no. What? No. He shouldn't have left already. He'd **never** leave this early. He put way to much preparation into tonight's…_

Nygma quickly taps out his reply.

_When?_

_Before midnight._

_Did he leave with Vincent?_

_No. Vince is still here working the club._

Ed feels the tendrils of creeping panic.

_Who did he leave with?_

_His old security chief I think._

Ed blinks with disbelief and absently shakes his head.

_Why the **fuck** would he **leave** with **him**?_

His gut twists when his worst fear is confirmed with the man’s subsequent text.

_Yes. He left with Victor Zsasz._

_— >¿?<— _

_Edward decides to stop by the club to check on Oswald, who’s been furiously preparing for his upcoming Ten Post Zero celebration scheduled the following month. Penguin has been overwrought, stressed and increasingly impatient the closer the big day nears._

_Ed walks through the empty club and heads for Oswald’s office but finds it unoccupied. He stops for a moment and follows the sound of the slow jazz coming from his small studio down the corridor. Unlike the older classics they both love, this one’s more contemporary with a luxuriant upright bass, sultry tenor sax and piano accompaniment._

[You’re not the man](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cgwjR_e1ixE)  
Who stepped inside my life  
and haunted every, every day…

_Edward stands in the doorway, appreciatively watching Oswald in his finery with a drink in his hand and a faraway look in his eyes. Ed smirks and impishly quips._

_“Penny for your thoughts.” He steps away from the door and approaches with a wry grin. “… Or perhaps, taking inflation and Gotham’s current cost-of-living into account, we’re probably looking more in the ballpark of…”_

_Ed’s voice trails off when Oswald tenses and wipes his eyes._

_“I’m sorry. Did I startle you?”_

_He watches Oswald shake his head, looking somewhat embarrassed. Despite the years, Ed’s still captivated by the man’s rapid blinking and the blush that rises in his cheeks. Oswald distractedly apologizes._

_“I-I’m sorry, Ed. I didn’t see you there. I… have a lot of things on my mind.”_

_He clears his throat._

_“About the party.”_

_Oswald raises the glass to his lips. Ed tracks the descent of the man’s adam’s apple as he imbibes his single malt, marveling at the beautiful hand holding the crystal tumbler._

_Ed takes Penguin’s glass and sets it aside. He tenderly reaches for Oswald’s neck and leans in to nudge and kiss, hoping to elicit that sweet, throaty moan he never tires of. Ed pulls back, looking forward to that soft, dreamy look Oswald still gets in his eyes, only to blink in surprise at something more akin to sadness or wistfulness._

He _has_ been distracted with the upcoming party.

 _Ngyma smiles and wraps an arm around Oswald, softly swaying to the music. As he does, he senses his partner’s slight, subtle resistance beneath the surface—_ ** _just_ ** _enough to make him take note. If he didn’t know any better, he’d swear Oswald’s unwilling to look at him. Ed’s brow furrows with concern._

Maybe he’s just self-conscious. He sometimes gets that way when he’s feeling sentimental.

_Ed tries reassuring Oswald by wrapping both arms around him. It takes a few moments, but the man hesitantly, circumspectly reciprocates by sliding his hands up his chest and over his shoulders to clasp behind his neck. Ed’s concern abates once Oswald finally rests his head on his chest._

You’re not the man  
Who would bleed for me  
And never shed a tear  
You’re not the one  
Said he’d always be near…

_Ed softly sighs. The more he eases into the song’s lazy rhythm, the more he notices Oswald’s steps growing more and more stilted. Mechanical. Only then does he feel the man’s upper body grow rigid until it softly shudders with a quiet, stifled sob._

_“Vic—.”_

_The instant Ed stops dancing, Oswald tenses and shakes his head, quickly pulling away and explaining himself._ **_Conspicuously_ ** _so._

_“Ed. I’m… sorry. I’m… really distracted right now. I… think I need a little time to myself.”_

_Ed nods and takes Oswald’s face in his hand. He gazes into those lovely green eyes, leans down and presses their lips together._

_“Of course. I should have called first. Will I see you later tonight?”_

_Oswald nods, struggling to maintain eye contact._

_“Yes. You will. I-I’ll call you when I finish up here.”_

_Ed pecks the man’s lips and turns to leave. As he makes his way out of the club, his mind circles back to Oswald’s erratic pulse and works to decipher the subtle slip of his voiced labial fricative._

He’s been at odds with his meathead about security the night of the party. That’s _gotta_ be it. He’s probably aggravated with Vince... Wait. No. That’s not what he said. Vince... ends with a voiced alveolar nasal followed by an unvoiced apical postalveolar sibilant fricative. He ended with an _aspirated consonant, “c”. ‘Vic—.’_

Did he mean, **_‘Victor’_**?

 

—> <—

Oswald’s forgotten how much he’s missed this, riding in the backseat of his town car as he’s driven around Gotham. So much of the city has changed after Zero, some places have been completely demolished and replaced by incongruously clean and gleaming buildings against the backdrop of older, historic ones. Some of the old relics still manage to stand against all reason, much like the town itself. Other areas, previously falling into disrepair, have been regentrified—pricing out their previous inhabitants.

Penguin occasionally looks back up into the rear view mirror to dare a glance at Victor, incessantly scanning the roads, the mirrors, everywhere as he drives. Oswald still can’t believe, despite the years and how much they’ve both changed, they also have a number of qualities that still haven’t. Victor, for one, _still_ has the uncanny ability to intuit what he wants—and what he _doesn’t._

The moment Victor slid into the driver seat (against Vincent’s vehement protests), he promptly looked up into the rearview mirror back at Penguin.

_“Wanna drive around for awhile before we head there?”_

_Penguin softens and smiles back._

_“That would be nice, Victor. Thank you.”_

—

Zsasz parks the town car on the outskirts of town. The smell of all the food in the town car is _really_ getting to Oswald now. Penguin quips the moment Victor opens the backdoor.

“I still don’t understand why you _insisted_ on keeping the Gotham Grille curly fries up front with you.”

Victor scrunches his face in disbelief as he offers a hand.

“Seriously? You remember how to make my drink but forget how much I hate cold fries?” He shrugs. “Besides, I didn’t want you eatin’ ‘em all the way you used to.”

Penguin cuts his eyes to the side, takes Zsasz’s offered hand and groans as he hoists himself out. Before he realizes it, he’s allowing the man to take his top hat and tuxedo jacket.

“Where did you bring me?”

Victor nods towards the back. Oswald turns to look and his lips part with surprise at the staggering view of the city (up to and including the docks). Penguin takes his cane and limps up to get a better view as Victor neatly folds his tuxedo jacket and returns it to the car with this hat. The hitman addresses him as he pulls out all the food and sets it on the trunk of the car.

“Better get over here or I’m gonna help myself to your calzone.”

Oswald pulls his Colt and snarks as he hobbles back.

“You have pizza, Victor. Don’t make me have to kill you.”

—

The two men sit on the trunk of the town car enjoying a sublimely satisfying meal of burgers, Italian and fried chicken. The indignity of requiring Victor's help to take a seat atop the car is quickly forgotten the moment Oswald sinks his teeth into his calzone. Short of the jazz music emanating from the car, their meal is largely silent. Most of their time is spent looking up at the full moon or appreciating the Gotham nightscape, intermittently making small talk or sneaking a glance of the other while they’re distracted. At one point, they reach inside the box of chicken at the same time. Victor immediately removes his hand and leaves the piece to Oswald.

Penguin shakes his head. He’s well-sated but all of it, the comfort food, the quiet, the view, the opportunity to unwind after the whirlwind of the past several weeks and the drastic change of scenery with someone who knows him better than he knows himself (especially after feeling abandoned by Ed) feels surprisingly good. _Right._ Even _if_ there’s a very good chance that person will end him the moment he completes this job. However, until then, Oswald plans to savor the surprising payoff of his earlier gamble. He decides to take another. He _has_ to know.

“Victor… Detective Alvarez came by the club earlier this week. He… asked me about a woman who was recently murdered. Her name was Maura Lapinski. She looked a lot like…Sofia Falcone.”

Zsasz is surprised by the flash in gut and his reflexive twitch, soon followed by the embarrassment and shame(?) of being exposed. When he feels the heat on his face, he’s relieved that the only light is that of the distant city and the moonlight. He waits for Penguin to finish.

“Was that… _you?_ ”

Victor continues looking out at the city. His only response is a swallow and a nod.

Oswald’s brow crinkles.

“Show me.”

Victor presses his lips together, wipes his hands and slides off the car. Penguin watches the man somberly remove his holster and jacket, placing them aside. He unbuttons his shirt and opens it, exposing his torso as Oswald carefully makes his way off the car. Zsasz peers down at the man before allowing his eyes to slowly drift toward his left pec at his heart.

Penguin’s lips part at how much harder and more scarred Victor has become. Oswald’s eyes drift to the newest cut. He blinks in shock when he sees, below the gunshot wound he stitched for the man all those years ago, _several_ completed tally sets, each separate and distinct from all his other scars. Penguin slowly raises a hand to his mouth.

“ _All_ these? Are they…” His voice breaks. “...For _me?_ ”

Zsasz furrows his brow and nods, not quite meeting the kingpin’s eyes.

Oswald looks at the freshest cut, still working to mend itself. He dares a look up.

“Still?”

Victor swallows and peers down at Penguin, his answer not quite a whisper.

“Yes.”

Penguin reaches to finger the scars, surprised by Victor’s soft shudder and quiet intake of breath. His hand slowly glides up to finger the scars from the stitches he sewed, still visible. Oswald sadly smiles.

“My mark’s still there.”

Victor nods.

“It is.”

Victor’s jaw muscles flex as his eyes drift to Penguin’s neck. Zsasz swallows and answers, his voice hoarse.

“So’s mine.”

Zsasz slowly raises his hand to Oswald’s neck but stops himself. He grimaces and exhales a ragged breath.

“I’m sorry.”

After Victor averts his eyes, Oswald gingerly reaches for Victor’s face and turns it towards him. He then takes the man’s hand and guides it to his neck, gently encouraging him.

Victor takes a breath and carefully traces the scar he left on Penguin’s neck. He breathlessly replies, voice racked with emotion.

“That I hurt you. That I—.”

Zsasz _still_ can’t bring himself to say the words. What he did. That he lied. That he betrayed Oswald for _her_. _Sofia Falcone_. The woman who killed her father, the great Don Falcone: the man who first recognized his efforts, gave him purpose and helped him fully realize his potential. Mob boss. Mentor. Role model. Surrogate father. The best Victor can manage is try to explain himself.

“I thought you….”

Zsasz blinks and shakes his head. Oswald wraps his hand around the taller man’s.

“I’m... sorry too. About Haven. That I took you for granted and didn’t know how much you meant to me until—.”

Oswald tries his best to chuckle despite the pain. He apologetically shakes his head.

“I never dreamed _you_ would ever leave me.”

Victor flinches a little and swallows, struggling to keep his voice and expression from revealing exactly how remorseful and _fragile_ he feels.

“I dunno what I was thinking. I… forgot my place. That I was just… _‘the help’_.”

Oswald blinks his pooling eyes and sadly smiles.

“Victor. My beloved mother was the help. She worked for my father’s family. When I finally met him, he told me that he never forgot her or stopped loving her, even after things ended between them and he built a life with someone else.”

Penguin dares a step closer and reaches for Victor’s face.

“Victor, I want you to know that, despite everything, I never stopped—.”

At that moment, the night sky lights up. Both men turn towards the city and blink in disbelief at an elaborate display of alternating green and purple fireworks going off. After a brief lull, a huge green question mark explodes in the sky above the docks and there, below it, at the center of the harbor, spotlights shine on a huge iceberg with a giant purple umbrella at its center.

Penguin breathlessly watches the spectacle in astonishment. Ed’s absence, his machinations and meticulous planning now coalescing in a grand spectacle visible to the entire city and its inhabitants.

 _Ed_ **_didn’t_ ** _forget. He did all this… for_ **_me_** _._

Zsasz peers down at Oswald, watching the wonderment and delight flash across his face and in the beguiling green eyes he missed _far_ more than he realized. He sadly smiles and gently reaches for the hand still absently resting on his face and holds it for a moment.

Victor drags his lips inside the distracted man’s palm and plants a fleeting kiss in it before removing it from his mouth and returning to the car. After redressing himself, he reaches for his work phone to look at the text he just received from his mystery client. He stares at it for a long moment, takes a deep breath and taps out a separate text to the twins while Penguin watches the dazzling show illuminating the night sky.

_Get to the Van Dahl estate. Now._

—

Oswald gazes at his father’s mansion as Victor drives up and stops the car. There are lights on inside and the scaffolding is still up at the front facade. Even with the surprising encouragement of Edward’s firework display, he knows he’s not ready but he’s dragged his heels long enough. It will be dawn soon.

He removes his monocle and wipes his eyes, finally faced with the reality of having to relinquish this place. His _home_. The home of his father. The place where his father and mother fell in love. The place where he also fell in love and felt like he finally made it. Became the great man his mother always swore he’d be. The place where he won and lost it all.

After a deep breath, he puts his eyepiece back on and looks up at the rear view mirror. Zsasz is expectantly staring back at him.

“Ready when you are.”

Penguin presses his lips together and nods.

Victor immediately exits the car and makes his way to the back. He catches a glimpse of Egypt in her crow’s nest with her bolt-action rifle. If she’s in position, he’s confident Saffronia’s already somewhere at the front of the house—likely amidst the landscaping or lying in wait within the construction set-up.

Victor opens the back door.

Penguin nods with determination and takes Victor’s hand. _Still_ strong. Determined. Capable. He hoists himself out of the car. Once standing, Victor straightens his tie and smooths down his jacket.

“You’ve got this.”

Zsasz’s eyes drift to the pocket square. Penguin looks down and reaches for it to return back, but the man’s ringed fingers stop him.

“It’s _yours_ now.”

Penguin softens and acquiesces with a nod. Victor fixes the four peak fold and pats it before returning Oswald’s gaze and curtly nodding.

Victor walks Oswald up the stairs to the front door, keeping a hand at his back the entire time. Just before he reaches to ring the doorbell, Penguin turns to him and slips his hand inside his tuxedo jacket for the man’s payment. Zsasz holds up a hand and shakes his head.

“No. I uh… never finished my last shift.”

Penguin absently nods and can feel his lower lip quivering.

“ _Thank_ you, Victor. For _everything_ tonight.” He blinks and swallows. “I didn’t think I could do this alone.”

“You’ve got Vince.”

Oswald reaches for Zsasz’s chest and chokes out.

“He’s not you.”

Victor blinks in astonishment. At that moment, he hears the front door unlocking and sees movement inside the beveled side-light windows. Zsasz instantly unholsters his GSR, steps to the side of the door out of the line of sight, curtly nodding in confirmation at Penguin.  

Oswald nods back and knits his brow with determination, standing before the door. A tall, young man in his early twenties with soft curls and a suit opens the door. Inside, he can hear a swinging tenor sax.

 _“I got men who are younger, and handsome too_  
_But they_ _just don't move me like you do  
_[Fat daddy](https://youtu.be/ecO27Y2NuFI), please come back to me…”__ 

Oswald chuckles with amusement and exhales the breath he didn’t know he was holding, disarmed by hearing one of his favorite songs. Before the young man can greet him, he tips his head and smiles.

“Forgive the unseemly hour but I got here as soon as I could. I was busy with my celebration. I understand you may have some items from my deceased father’s estate.”

Oswald nods inside the house, chuckling.

“I’m delighted to see you share my love of Dinah Washington. They just don’t make music like they used to, do they?”

Penguin waits for a response but the young man provides none. His brow crinkles with confusion and he looks up into the hazel eyes twinkling back at him. The moment he sees the subtle smile tugging at the young man’s mouth, his face flickers with familiarity. Oswald slowly blinks and gapes with astonishment. He exhales a ragged breath.

_“Martín? My boy, is that **you**?” _

The young man nods and his face splits into a wide smile. Tears spill down the kingpin’s face as he approaches and draws him close for a long, tight embrace. The moment Penguin pulls back to get a better look at Martín, no longer a boy but a man, he hears Edward’s impish voice.

“I know it’s not uncommon for men your age to suffer the cognitive effects of aging, Oswald, but I confess I expected you here much sooner.”

Oswald is staggered.

“Ed. You? _You_ did _all this_ for…?”

“You? Yes.”

The tall, lanky man dramatically waves his hands and grins like a Cheshire Cat.

“Ta-da!”

Ed’s voice grows warmer, more sincere.

”Welcome home, Oswald.”

Edward approaches Oswald to take his top hat and his jacket. He leans down and kisses Penguin’s temple before nodding him toward his co-conspirator.

“Allow me to put these away for you. I believe you two have lots of catching up to do.”

After Oswald and Martín enter the remodeled space, Edward slips the firearm from his jacket, keeping his eyes affixed on the bald head of the man just beyond the side-light windows on the porch. The moment Nygma reaches for his silencer, he feels a text drop in. He grabs his phone and looks down at the answer to the last text he sent.

**_???_ **

_Want him dead so bad?  
Kill him yourself, Nygma._

Edward’s lips part with surprise. He looks back up at the open door. Zsasz is eyeing him with a cold stare and both GSRs aimed at him. Behind him is one of his women locked and loaded with a chilling smirk on her face. Only then does Nygma notice the red dot a sniper has hovering at his chest. Edward grits his teeth, slowly raises the hand with his phone in surrender and carefully slips his weapon back inside his jacket with the other.

Oswald meticulously studies all the effort that has gone into restoring the old house as Edward locks the front door and hangs up his jacket. When Martín heads for the kitchen to make a pot of tea, Penguin looks out a window when he sees movement outside.

Zsasz and one of his women are striding down the drive toward his old Imperial driving up to meet them. Another woman exits the driver seat and promptly gets in back. Oswald watches Victor stare back at him for a long moment before slipping inside his car and driving off into the night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t believe I actually finished this story. I’m actually a little in shock right now. It’s been in the works for so long. Uh... let’s see. 
> 
> First off: I was conflicted about including Sade’s schmaltzy jazz (an old guilty pleasure of mine) but, f*ck it. She helped me reach my story’s final destination. (I can’t stop picturing that hilarious [ record scene in “Shaun of the Dead”](https://youtu.be/9qHAOY7C1go) when Shaun’s mate, Ed, tosses Sade’s Diamond Life album at approaching zombies.) Then, not too long ago, Donal Logue also tweeted something funny about the lyrics to her “Smooth Operator” song so, after that, I felt compelled to use it. 
> 
> (Speaking of Donal, I gotta give a nod to [ one of my all-time fave Gordlock authors, TheFierceBeast. Go check their sh!t here.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFierceBeast/pseuds/TheFierceBeast/works?fandom_id=2818614) _I love you, TFB! You’re TheFierce[st]Beast[ie] of all the beasties! Thank you so much for being such a delightful human being and for all your support! :3_ )
> 
> I liked the idea of leaving Zsaszlepot’s conclusion just vague enough for people to interpret. I wanted both men to get some the closure they never got. I know there’s no way that Victor can right what he did but I wanted (in some very small way) for him to have a small opportunity to apologize, confess and do “right” by Oswald. 
> 
> _At the very least, I wanted them to bury the hatchet (and not necessarily in the other’s skull). I hope I was able to convey that... and now I’m just rambling ‘cause I have no f*cking idea what to put in here. *whispers to self, “Time to stop typing, Jess. Step away from the keyboard and no one gets hurt”.*_
> 
>  
> 
> You guys know the drill. I had no beta, so please holler if you see stuff requiring my attention—especially this chapter. I wrote, edited and posted this one quick.
> 
>  
> 
> _Thanks y’all! <3_

**Author's Note:**

> Well, love of my fanfic life, here is your humble gift that I’ve been constructing for… *looks side to side* almost a year now (and uh… thank you for helping me with Nygma’s pièce de résistance. I find it hilarious that you were the one who had to help me with that ‘cause I lack imagination)! 
> 
> I hope it delivers the oh-so-subtle heartbreak you’ve come to expect from me. Thank you so much for the art, the love, the support, the laughter, the everything. 
> 
> I love the h3ll outta yo crazy @ss!
> 
> ______
> 
> I wanna take a moment to thank A_Cautionary_Tale, ifnot_winter and TheFierceBeast in particular. You three are so f*cking delightful and encouraging that I just can’t even. Really. I can’t express to you how much you guys have meant to me and helped me by believing in me when I didn’t believe in myself. (Yes, fanfic wifey you too, but you gotta 49K fic OUTTA ME of all people so I think that’s thanks enough, don’tcha think?) Seriously, y’all. Thank you—and A_C_T! WHUT WHUT?! Adorkable Richard is STILL ALIVE! You’re WELCOME! :3 <3
> 
> For any of you still reading, thank you kindly. Really. This story’s the most ambitious and elaborate thing I’ve created to date and was the source of a lotta stress and consternation on my part. Oh, and thank you for your patience with my sentimentality about old tunes and my overwhelming compulsion to add them into my fics! 
> 
> Your comments, support and encouragement throughout this journey have meant more to me than you can imagine. 
> 
> And the rest of you who read, stuck by me, gave kudos— _and especially those who commented_ , y’all know who you are: THANK YOU! It’s _those wonderful comments_ that give us life. That makes writing these fics worth it. That encourages us to write more. Thank you so very, _very_ much.
> 
> Love and peace, y’all. }8> Jess


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